Bitsoup.org

  

  

 GULF

  

 THE FIRST-QUARTER ROCKET from Moonbase put him

 down at Pied-a-Terre. The name he was traveling

 under began—by foresight—with the letter "A"; he

 was through port inspection and into the shuttle tube

 to the city ahead of the throng. Once in the tube car

 he went to the men's washroom and locked himself

 in.

  

 Quickly he buckled on the safety belt he found

 there, snapped its hooks to the wall fixtures, and

 leaned over awkwardly to remove a razor from his

 bag. The surge caught him in that position; despite

 the safety belt he bumped his head—and swore. He

 straightened up and plugged in the razor. His mous-

 tache vanished; he shortened his sideburns, trimmed

 the comers of his eyebrows, and brushed them up.

  

 He towelled his hair vigorously to remove the oil

 that had sleeked it down, combed it loosely into a

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 wavy mane. The car was now riding in a smooth,

 unaccelerated 300 mph; he let himself out of the

 safety belt without unhooking it from the walls and,

 3

  

 4              Robert A. Heinlein

  

 working very rapidly, peeled off his moonsuit, took

 from his bag and put on a tweedy casual outfit suited

 to outdoors on Earth and quite unsuited to Moon

 Colony's air-conditioned corridors.

  

 His slippers he replaced with walking shoes from

 the bag; he stood up. Joel Abner, commercial trav-

 eler, had disappeared; in his place was Captain Jo-

 seph Gilead, explorer, lecturer, and writer. Of both

 names he was the sole user; neither was his birth

 name.

  

 He slashed the moonsuit to ribbons and flushed it

 down the water closet, added "Joel Abner's" identifi-

 cation card; then peeled a plastic skin off his travel

 bag and let the bits follow the rest- The bag was now

 pearl grey and rough, instead of dark brown and

 smooth. The slippers bothered him; he was afraid

 they might stop up the car's plumbing. He contented

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 himself with burying them in the waste receptacle.

  

 The acceleration warning sounded as he was doing

 this; he barely had time to get back into the belt.

 But, as the car plunged into the solenoid field and

 surged to a stop, nothing remained of Joel Abner but

 some unmarked underclothing, very ordinary toilet

 articles, and nearly two dozen spools of microfilm

 equally appropriate—until examined—to a commercial

 traveler or a lecturer-writer. He planned not to let

 them be examined as long as he was alive.

  

 He waited in the washroom until he was sure of

 being last man out of the car, then went forward in-

 to the next car, left by its exit, and headed for the lift

 to the ground level.

  

 "New Age Hotel, sir," a voice pleaded near his

 ear. He felt a hand fumbling at the grip of his travel

 bag.

  

 He repressed a reflex to defend the bag and looked

 the speaker over. At first glance he seemed an under-

 sized adolescent in a smart uniform and a pillbox

 cap. Further inspection showed premature wrinkles

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 and the features of a man at least forty. The eyes

  

 GULP               5

  

 were glazed. A pituitary case, he thought to himself,

 and on the hop as well. "New Age Hotel," the run-

 ner repeated. "Best mechanos in town, chief. There's

 a discount if you're just down from the moon."

  

 Captain Gilead, when in town as Captain Gilead,

 always stayed at the old Savoy. But the notion of

 going to the New Age appealed to him; in that in-

 credibly huge, busy, and ultramodern hostelry he

 might remain unnoticed until he had had time to do

 what had to be done.

  

 He disliked mightily the idea of letting go his bag.

 Nevertheless it would be out of character not to let

 the runner carry the bag; it would call attention to

 himself—and the bag. He decided that this unhealthy

 runt could not outrun him even if he himself were on

 crutches; it would suffice to keep an eye on the bag.

  

 "Lead on, comrade," he answered heartily, sur-

 rendering the bag. There had been no hesitation at

 all; he had let go the bag even as the hotel runner

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 reached for it.

  

 "Okay, chief." The runner was first man into an

 empty uft; he went to the back of the car and set the

 bag down beside him.Gilead placed himself so that

 his foot rested firmly against his bag and faced for-

 ward as other travelers crowded in. The car started.

  

 Tlie lift was jammed;Gilead was subjected to body

 pressures on every side—but he noticed an addi-

 tional, unusual, and uncalled-for pressure behind him.

  

 His right hand moved suddenly and clamped down

 on a skinny wrist and a hand clutching something.

 Gileadmade no further movement, nor did the owner

 of the hand attempt to draw away or make any objec-

 tion. They remained so until the car reached the

 surface. When the passengers had spilled out he

 reached behind him with his left hand, recovered his

 bag and dragged the wrist and its owner out of the

 car.

  

 It was, of course, the runner; the object in his fist

 wasGilead 's wallet. "You durn near lost that. chief,"

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 6             Robert A. Heinlein

  

 the runner announced with no show of embarrass-

 ment. "It was falling out of your pocket."

  

 Gileadliberated the wallet and stuffed it into an

 inner pocket. "Fell right through the zipper," he

 answered cheerfully. "Well, let's find a cop.'

  

 The runt tried to pull away, "You got nothing on

 me!"

  

 Gileadconsidered the defense. In truth, he had

 nothing. His wallet was already out of sight. As to

 witnesses, the other lift passengers were already

 gone—nor had they seen anything. The lift itself was

 automatic. He was simply a man in the odd position

 of detaining another citizen by the wrist. AndGilead

 himself did not want to talk to the police.

  

 He let go that wrist. "On your way, comrade.

 We'll call it quits."

  

 The runner did not move. "How about my tip?"

  

 Gileadwas beginning to like this rascal. Locating a

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 loose half credit in his change pocket he flipped it at

 the runner, who grabbed it out of the air but still

 didn't leave. "I'll take your bag now. Gimme."

  

 "No, thanks, chum. I can find your delightful inn

 without further help. One side, please."

  

 "Oh, yeah? How about my commission? I gotta

 carry your bag. else how they gonna know I brung

 you in? Gimme."

  

 Gileadwas delighted with the creature's unabashed

 insistence. He found a two-credit piece and passed it

 over. "There's your cumshaw. Now beat it, before I

 kick your tail up around your shoulders."

  

 "You and who else?"

  

 Gileadchuckled and moved away down the con-

 course toward the station entrance to the New Age

 Hotel. His subconscious sentries informed him im-

 mediately that the runner had not gone back toward

 the lift as expected, but was keeping abreast him in

 the crowd. He considered this. The runner might

 very well be what he appeared to be, common city

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 GULF               7

  

 riffraff who combined casual thievery with his overt

 occupation. On the other hand—

  

 He decided to unload. He stepped suddenly off

 the sidewalk into the entrance of a drugstore and

 stopped Just inside the door to buy a newspaper.

 While his copy was being printed, he scooped up,

 apparently as an afterthought, three standard pneumo

 mailing tubes. As he paid for them he palmed a pad

 of gummed address labels.

  

 A glance at the mirrored wall showed him that his

 shadow had hesitated outside but was still watching

 him.Gilead went on back to the shop's soda fountain

 and slipped into an unoccupied booth. Although the

 floor show was going on—a remarkably shapely ec-

 dysiast was working down toward her last string of

 beads—he drew the booth's curtain.

  

 Shortly the call light over the booth flashed dis-

 creetly; he called, "Come in!" A pretty and very

 young waitress came inside the curtain. Her plastic

 costume covered without concealing.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 She glanced around. "Lonely?"

  

 "No, thanks, I'm tired." v

  

 "How about a redhead, thenP'Real cute—"

  

 "I really am tired. Bring me two bottles of beer,

 unopened, and some pretzels."

  

 "Suit yourself, sport." She left.

  

 With speed he opened the travel bag, selected

 nine spools of microfilm, and loaded them into the

 three mailing tubes, the tubes being of the common

 three-spool size. Gilead then took the filched pad of

 address labels, addressed the top one to "Raymond

 Calhoun, P. 0. Box 1060, Chicago" and commenced

 to draw with great care in the rectangle reserved for

 electric-eye sorter. The address he shaped in arbi-

 trary symbols was intended not to be read, but to be

 scanned automatically. The hand-written address was

 merely a precaution, in case a robot sorter should

 reject his hand-drawn symbols as being imperfect

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 8              Robert A. Heinlein

  

 and thereby turn the tube over to a human postal

 clerk for readdressing.

  

 He worked fast, but with the care of an engraver.

 The waitress returned before he had finished. The

 call light warned him; he covered the label with his

 elbow and kept it covered.

  

 She glanced at the mailing tubes as she put down

 the beer and a bowl of pretzels. "Want me to mail

 those?"

  

 He had another instant of split-second indecision.

 When he had stepped out of the tube car he had

 been reasonably sure, first, that the persona of Joel

 Abner, commercial traveler, had not been penetrated,

 and, second, that the transition from Abner to Gilead

 had been accomplished without arousing suspicion.

 The pocket-picking episode had not alarmed him,

 but had caused him to reclassify those two proposi-

 tions from calculated certainties to unproved vari-

 ables. He had proceeded to test them at once; they

 were now calculated certainties again—of the oppo-

 site sort. Ever since he had spotted his erstwhile

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 porter, the New Age runner, as standing outside this

 same drugstore bis subconscious had been clanging

 like a burglar alarm-

 It was clear not only that he had been spotted but

 that they were organized with a completeness and

 shrewdness he had not believed possible.

  

 But it was mathematically probable to the point of

 certainty that they were not operating through this

 girl. They had no way of knowing that he would

 choose to turn aside into this particular drugstore.

 That she could be used by them he was sure—and

 she had been out of sight since his first contact with

 her. But she was clearly not bright enough, despite

 her alleycat sophistication, to be approached, sub-

 verted, instructed and indoctrinated to the point where

 she could seize an unexpected opportunity, all in a

 space of time merely adequate to fetch two bottles of

  

 GULF               9

  

 beer. No, this girl was simply after a tip. Therefore

 she was safe,

  

 But her costume offered no possibility of concealing

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 three mailing tubes, nor would she be safe crossing

 the concourse to the post office. He had no wish that

 she be found tomorrow morning dead in a ditch.

  

 "No," he answered immediately. "I have to pass

 the post office anyway. But it was a kind thought.

 Here." He gave her a half credit.

  

 "Thanks." She waited and stared meaningfully at

 the beer. He fumbled again in his change pocket,

 found only a few bits, reached for his wallet and took

 out a five-pluton note.

  

 'Take it out of this."

  

 She handed him back three singles and some

 change. He pushed the change toward her, then

 waited, frozen, while she picked it up and left. Only

 then did he hold the wallet closer to his eyes.

  

 It was not his wallet.

  

 He should have noticed it before, he told himself.

 Even though there had been only a second from the

 time he had taken it from?' the runner's clutched

 fingers until he had concealed it'in a front pocket, he

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 should have known it—known it and forced the run-

 ner to disgorge, even if he had had to skin him alive.

  

 But why was he sure that it was not his wallet? It

 was the proper size and shape, the proper weight

 and feel—real ostrich skin in these days of synthet-

 ics. There was the weathered ink stain which had

 resulted from carrying a leaky stylus in the same

 pocket. There was a V-shaped scratch on the front

 which had happened so long ago he did not recall the

 circumstances.

  

 Yet it was not his wallet.

  

 He opened it again. There was the proper amount

 of money, there were what seemed to be his Explor-

 ers' Club card and his other identity cards, there was

 a dog-eared flat-photo of a mare he had once owned.

 Yet the more the evidence showed that it was his,

  

 10 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 the more certain he became that it was not his.

 These things were forgeries; they did not feel right.

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 There was one way to find out. He flipped a switch

 provided by a thoughtful management; the booth;

  

 became dark. He took out his penknife and carefully

 slit a seam back of the billfold pocket. He dipped a

 finger into a secret pocket thus disclosed and felt

 around; the space was empty—nor in this case had

 the duplication of his own wallet been quite perfect;

  

 the space should have been lined, but his fingers

 encountered rough leather.

  

 He switched the light back on, put the wallet

 away, and resumed his interrupted drawing. Tlie loss

 of the card which should have been in the concealed

 pocket was annoying, certainly awkward, and con-

 ceivably disastrous, but he did not judge that the

 information on it was jeopardized by the loss of the

 wallet. The card was quite featureless unless exam-

 ined by black light; if exposed to visible Ught—by

 some one taking the real wallet apart, for example—it

 had the disconcerting quality of bursting explosively

 into flame.

  

 He continued to work, his mind busy with the

 wider problem of why they had taken so much trou-

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 ble to try to keep him from knowing that his wallet

 was being stolen—and the still wider and more dis-

 concerting question of why they had bothered with

 his wallet. Finished, he stuffed the remainder of the

 pad of address labels into a crack between cushions

 in the booth, palmed the label he had prepared,

 picked up the bag and the three mailing tubes. One

 tube he kept separate from the others by a finger.

  

 No attacK would take place, he judged, in the drug

 store. The crowded concourse between himself and

 the post office he would ordinarily have considered

 equally safe—but not today. A large crowd of people,

 he knew, are equal to so many trees as witnesses if

 the dice were loaded with any sort of a diversion.

  

 He slanted across the bordering slidewalk and

  

 GULF               11

  

 headed directly across the middle toward the post

 office, keeping as far from other people as he could

 manage. He had become aware of two men converg-

 ing on him when the expected diversion took place.

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 It was a blinding light and a loud explosion, fol-

 lowed by screams and startled shouts. The source of

 the explosion he could imagine; the screams and

 shouts were doubtless furnished free by the public.

 Being braced, not for this, but for anything, he re-

 frained even from turning his head.

  

 The two men closed rapidly, as on cue.

  

 Most creatures and almost all humans fight only

 when pushed. This can lose them decisive advan-

 tage. The two men made no aggressive move of any

 sort, other than to come close to Gilead—nor did

 they ever attack.

  

 Gilead kicked the first of them in the knee cap,

 using the side of his foot, a much more certain stroke

 than with the toe. He swung with his travel bag

 against the other at the same time, not hurting him

 but bothering him, spoiling his timing. Gilead fol-

 lowed it with a heavy kick to the man's stomach.

  

 The man whose knee cap he )iad ruined was on

 the pavement, but still active—reaching for some-

 thing, a gun or a knife. Gilead kicked him in the

 head and stepped over him, continued toward the

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 post office.

  

 Slow march—slow march all the way! He must not

 give the appearance of running away; he must be the

 perfect respectable citizen, going about his lawful

 occasions.

  

 The post office came close, and still no tap on the

 shoulder, no denouncing shout, no hurrying foot-

 steps. He reached the post office, was inside. The

 opposition's diversion had worked, perfectly—but for

 Gilead, not for them,

  

 There was a short queue at the addressing ma-

 chine. Gilead joined it, took out his stylus and wrote

  

 12 Robert A. Heirdein

  

 addresses on the tubes while standing. A man joined

 the queue almost at once; Gilead made no effort to

 keep him from seeing what address he was writing; it

 was "Captain Joseph Gilead, the Explorers' Club,

 New York." When it came his turn to use the symlwl

 printing machine he still made no effort to conceal

 what keys he was punching—and die symbol address

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 matched the address he had written on each tube.

  

 He worked somewhat awkwardly as the previously

 prepared gummed label was still concealed in his left

 palm.

  

 He went from the addressing machine to the mail-

 ing receivers; the man who had been behind him in

 line followed him without pretending to address

 anything.

  

 Thwonk! and the first tube was away with a muted

 implosion of compressed air. Thwonk! again and the

 second was gone—and at the same time Cilead

 grasped the last one in his left hand, sticking the

 gummed label down firmly over the address he had

 just printed on it- Without looking at it he made sure

 by touch that it was in place, all comers sealed, then

 thwonk! it joined its mates.

  

 Gilead turned suddenly and trod heavily on the

 feet of the man crowded close behind him. "WupsI

 pardon me," he said happily and turned away. He

 was feeling very cheerful; not only had he turned his

 dangerous charge over into the care of a mindless,

 utterly reliable, automatic machine which could not

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 be coerced, bribed, drugged, nor subverted by any

 other means and in whose complexities the tube

 would be perfectly hidden until it reached a destina-

 tion known only to Gilead, but also he had just

 stepped on the corns of one of the opposition.

  

 On the steps of the post office he paused beside a

 policeman who was picking his teeth and staring out

 at a cluster of people and an ambulance in the mid-

 dle of the concourse. "What's up?" Gilead demanded.

  

 The cop shifted his toothpick. "First some damn

  

 GULF

  

 13

  

 tool sets off fireworks," he answered, "then two guys

 get in a fight and blame near ruin each other."

  

 "My goodness!" Gilead commented and set off

 diagonally toward the New Age Hotel.

  

 He looked around for his pick-pocket friend in the

 lobby, did not see him. Gilead strongly doubted if

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 the runt were on the hotel's staff. He signed in as

 Captain Gilead, ordered a suite appropriate to the

 persona he was wearing, and let himself be con-

 ducted to the lift.

  

 Gilead encountered the runner coming down just

 as he and his bellman were about to go up. "Hi,

 Shorty!" he called out while deciding not to eat

 anything in this hotel. "How's business?"

  

 The runt looked startled, then passed him without

 answering, his eyes blank. It was not likely, Gilead

 considered, that the runt would be used after being

 detected; therefore some sort of drop box, call sta-

 tion, or headquarters of the opposition was actually

 inside the hotel. Very well, that would save every-

 body a lot of useless commuting—and there would

 be fun for all!

  

 In the meantime he wanted a bath.

  

 In his suite he tipped the bellman who continued

 to linger.

  

 "Want some company?"

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "No, thanks, I'm a hermit."

  

 "Try this then." The bellman inserted Gilead's

 room key in the stereo panel, fiddled with the con-

 trols, the entire wall lighted up and faded away. A

 svelte blonde creature, backed by a chorus line,

 seemed about to leap intoGilead 's lap. "That's not a

 tape," the bellman went on, "that's a live transmis-

 sion direct from theTivoli . We got the best equip-

 ment in town."

  

 "So you have,"Gilead agreed, and pulled out his

 key. The picture blanked; the music stopped. "But I

  

 14 Robert A. Heiniein

  

 want a bath, so get out—now that you've spent four

 credits of my money."

  

 The bellman shrugged and left.Gilead threw off

 his clothes and stepped into the 'fresher. Twenty

 minutes later, shaved from ear to toe, scrubbed,

 soaked, sprayed, pummeled, rubbed, scented, pow-

 dered, and feeling ten years younger, he stepped

 out. His clothes were gone.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 His bag was still there; he looked it over. It seemed

 okay, itself and contents. There were the proper

 number of microfilm spools—not that it mattered.

 Only three of the spools mattered and they were

 already in the mail. The rest were just shrubbery,

 copies of his own public lectures. Nevertheless he

 examined one of them, unspooling a few frames.

  

 It was one of his own lectures all right—but not

 one he had had with him. It was one of his published

 transcriptions, available in any large book store. "Pix-

 ies everywhere," he remarked and put it back. Such

 attention to detail was admirable.

  

 "Boom service!"

  

 The service panel lighted up. "Yes, sir?"

  

 "My clothes are missing. Chase 'em up for me."

  

 "The valet has them, sir."

  

 "I didn't order valet service. Get 'em back."

  

 The girl's voice and face were replaced, after a

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 slight delay, by those of a man. "It is not necessary

 to order valet service here, sir. 'A New Age guest

 receives the best.' "

  

 "Okay, get 'em back—chop, chop! I've got a date

 with the Queen ofSheba ."

  

 "Very good, sir." The image faded.

  

 With wry humor he reviewed his situation. He

 had already made the possibly fatal error of underes-

 timating his opponent through—he now knew—vis-

 ualizing that opponent in the unimpressive person of

 "the runt." Thus he had allowed himself to be di-

 verted; he should have gone anywhere rather than to

 the New Age, even to the oldSavoy , although that

  

 GULF               15

  

 hotel, being a known stamping ground of Captain

 Gilead, was probably as thoroughy booby-trapped by

 now as this palatial dive.

  

 He must not assume that he had more than a few

 more minutes to live. Therefore he must use those

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 few minutes to tell his boss the destination of the

 three important spools of microfilm. Thereafter, if he

 still were alive, he must replenish his cash to give

 him facilities for action—the amount of money in

 "his" wallet, even if it were returned, was useless for

 any major action. Thirdly, he must report in, close

 the present assignment, and be assigned to his pres-

 ent antagonists as a case in themselves, quite aside

 from the matter of the microfilm.

  

 Not that he intended to drop Runt & Company

 even if not assigned to them. True artists were

 scarce—nailing him down by such a simple device as

 stealing his pants! He loved them for it and wanted

 to see more of them, as violently as possible.

  

 Even as the image on the room service panel

 faded he was punching the scrambled keys on the

 room's communicator desk. It.was possible—certain—

 that the scramble code he used. would be repeated

 elsewhere in the hotel and the supposed privacy

 attained by scrambling thereby breached at once.

 This did not matter; he would have his boss discon-

 nect and call back with a different scramble from the

 other end. To be sure, the call code of the station to

 which he was reporting would thereby be breached,

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 but it was more than worthwhile to expend and

 discard one relay station to get this message through.

  

 Scramble pattern set up, he coded—notNewWash-

 ington, but the relay station he had selected. A girl's

 face showed on the screen. "New Age service, sir-

 Were you scrambling?"

  

 "Yes."

  

 "I am veree sorree, sir. The scrambling circuits are

 being repaired, I can scramble for you from the main

 board."

  

 16 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 "No, thanks, I'll call in clear."

  

 "I yam ve-ree sor-ree, sir."

  

 There was one clear-code he could use—to be

 used only for crash priority. This was crash priority.

 Very weU—

  

 He punched the keys again without scrambling

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 and waited. The same girl's face appeared presently.

 "I am verree soiree, sir; that code does not reply.

 May I help you?"

  

 "You might send up a carrier pigeon." He cleared

 the board.

  

 Tlie cold breath on the back of his neck was stronger

 now; he decided to do what he could to make it

 awkward to kill him just yet. He reached back into

 his mind and coded in clear the Star-Times.

  

 No answer.

  

 He tried the Clarion—again no answer.

  

 No point in beating his head against it; they did

 not intend to let him talk outside to anyone. He rang

 for a bellman, sat down in an easy chair, switched it

 to "shallow massage," and luxuriated happily in the

 chair's tender embrace. No doubt about it; the New

 Age did have the best mechanos in town—his bath

 had been wonderful; this chair was superb. Both the

 recent austerities of Moon Colony and the probability

 that this would be his last massage added to his

 pleasure.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 The door dilated and a bellman came in—about

 his own size,Gilead noted. The man's eyebrows

 went up a fraction of an inch on seeingGilead 's

 oyster-naked condition. "You want company?"

  

 Gileadstood up and moved toward him. "No,

 dearie," he said grinning, "I want you"—at which he

 sank three stiffened fingers in the man's solar plexus.

  

 As the man grunted and went downGilead chopped

 him in the side of the neck with the edge of his

 hand.

  

 The shoulders of the jacket were too narrow and

 the shoes too large; nevertheless two minutes later

  

 GULF               17

  

 "Captain Gilead" had followed "Joel Abner" to obliv-

 ion and Joe, temporary and free-lance bellman, let

 himself out of the room. He regretted not being able

 to leave a tip with his predecessor.

  

 He sauntered past the passengers lifts, firmly mis-

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 directed a guest who had stopped him, and found

 the service elevator. By it was a door to the "quick

 drop." He opened it, reached out and grasped a

 waiting pulley belt, and, without stopping to belt

 himself into it, contenting himself with hanging on,

 he stepped off the edge. In less time than it would

 have taken him to parachute the drop he was picking

 himself up off the cushions in the hotel basement

 and reflecting that lunar gravitation surely played

 hob with a man's leg muscles.

  

 He left the drop room and started out in an arbi-

 trary direction, but walking as if he were on business

 and belonged where he was—any exit would do and

 he would find one eventually.

  

 He wandered in and out of the enormous pantry,

 then found the freight door through which the pan-

 try was supplied.

  

 When he was thirty feet from it, it closed and an

 alarm sounded. He turned back.

  

 He encountered two policemen in one of the many

 corridors under the giant hotel and attempted to

 brush on past them- One of them stared at him, then

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 caught his arm. "Captain Gilead—"

  

 Gileadtried to squirm away, but without showing

 any skill in the attempt. "What's the idea?"

  

 "You are Captain Gilead."

  

 "And you're my Aunt Sadie. Let go of my arm,

 copper."

  

 Tne policeman fumbled in his pocket with his

 other hand, pulled out a notebook, Cilead noted that

 the other officer had moved a safe ten feet away and

 had a Markheim gun trained on him.

  

 "You, Captain Gilead," the first officer droned,

 "are charged on a sworn complaint with offering a

  

 18 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 counterfeit five-pluton note at or about thirteen hours

 this date at the Grand Concourse drugstore in this

 city. You are cautioned to come peacefully and are

 advised that you need not speak at this time. Come

 along."

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 The charge might or might not have something to

 it, thoughtGilead ; he had not examined closely the

 money in the substituted wallet. He did not mind

 being booked, now that the microfilm was out of his

 possession; to be in an ordinary police station with

 nothing more sinister to cope with than crooked cops

 and dumb desk sergeants would be easy street com-

 pared with Runt & Company searching for him.

  

 On the other hand the situation was too pat, un-

 less the police had arrived close on his heels and

 found the stripped bellman, gotten his story and

 started searching.

  

 The second policeman kept his distance and did

 not lower the Markheim gun. That made other con-

 sideration academic. "Okay, I'll go," he protested.

 "You don't have to twist my arm that way. *

  

 They went up to the weather level and out to the

 street—and not once did the second cop drop his

 guard.Gilead relaxed and waited. A police car was

 balanced at the curb.Gilead stopped. "I'll walk," he

 said. "The nearest station is just around the comer. I

 want to be booked in my own precinct."

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 He felt a teeth-chattering chill as the blast from

 the Markheim hit him; he pitched forward on his

 face.

  

 He was coming to, but still could not coordinate,

 as they lifted him out of the car. By the time he

 found himself being hatf-carried, half-marched down

 a long corridor he was almost himself again, but with

 a gap in his memory. He was shoved through a door

 which clanged behind him. He steadied himself and

 looked around.

  

 "Greetings, friend," a resonant voice called out.

 "Drag up a chair by the fire."

  

 GULF               19

  

 Gileadblinked, deliberately slowed himself down,

 and breathed deeply. His healthy body was fighting

 off the effects of the Markheim bolt; he was almost

 himself.

  

 The room was a cell, old-fashioned, almost primi-

 tive. The front of the cell and the door were steel

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 bars; the walls were concrete. Its only furniture,

 a long wooden bench, was occupied by the man who

 had spoken. He was fiftyish, of ponderous frame,

 heavy features set in a shrewd, good-natured expres-

 sion. He was lying back on the bench, head pillowed

 on his hands, in animal ease.Gilead had seen him

 before.

  

 "Hello, Dr. Baldwin."

  

 The man sat up with a flowing economy of motion

 that moved his bulk as little as possible. "I'm not Dr.

 Baldwin—I'm not Doctor anything, though my name

 isBaldwin ." He stared atGilead . "But I know you—

 seen some of your lectures,"

  

 Gileadcocked an eyebrow. "A man would seem

 naked around the Association of Theoretical Physi-

 cists without a doctor's degree—and you were at

 their last meeting."

  

 Baldwinchuckled boomingly. "That accounts for

 it—that has to be my cousin on my father's side,

 Hartley M.—stuffy citizen Hartley. I'll have to try to

 take the curse off the family name, now that I've met

 you. Captain." He stuck out a huge hand. "Gregory

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 Baldwin, 'Kettle Belly' to my friends. New and used

 helicopters is as close as I come to theoretical phys-

 ics. 'Kettle Belly Baldwin, King of the Kopters'—you

 must have seen my advertising."

  

 "Now that you mention it, I have."

  

 Baldwinpulled out a card. "Here. If you ever

 need one, 111 give you a ten percent off for knowing

 old Hartley, Matter of fact, I can do right well by

 you in a year-old Curtiss, a family car without a mark

 on it."

  

 Gileadaccepted the card and sat down. "Not at

  

 20 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 the moment, thanks. You seem to have an odd sort

 of office, Mr. Baldwin."

  

 Baldwinchuckled again. "In the course of a long

 life these things happen. Captain. I won't ask you

 why you are here or what you are doing in that

 monkey suit. Call me Kettle Belly."

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "Okay."Gilead got up and went to the door. Op-

 posite the cell was a blank wall; there was no one in

 sight. He whistled and shouted—no answer.

  

 "What's itching you, Captain?"Baldwin asked

 gently.

  

 Gileadturned. His cellmate had dealt a solitaire

 hand on the bench and was calmly playing.

  

 "I've got to raise the turnkey and send for a lawyer."

  

 "Don't fret about it. Let's play some cards." He

 reached in a pocket. "I've got a second deck; how

 about some Russian bank?"

  

 "No, thanks. I've got to get out of here." He

 shouted again—still no answer.

  

 "Don't waste your lung power. Captain," Baldwin

 advised him. "They'll come when it suits them and

 not a second before. I know. Come play with me; it

 passes the time."Baldwin appeared to be shuffling

 the two decks;Gilead could see that he was actually

 stacking the cards. The deception amused him; he

 decided to play—since the truth ofBaldwin 's advice

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 was so evident.

  

 "If you don't like Russian bank," Kettle Belly went

 on, "here is a game I learned as a kid." He paused

 and stared intoGilead 's eyes. "It's instructive as well

 as entertaining, yet it's simple, once you catch on to

 it." He started dealing out the cards. "It makes a

 better game with two decks, because the black cards

 don't mean anything- Just the twenty-six red cards in

 each deck count—with the heart suit coming first.

 Each card scores according to its position in that

 sequence, the ace of hearts is one and the king of

 hearts counts thirteen; the ace of diamonds is next

 at fourteen and so on. Savvy?"

  

 GULF              21

  

 "Yes"

  

 "And the blacks don't count. They're blanks . . .

 spaces. Ready to play?"

  

 "What are the rules?"

  

 "We'll deal out one hand for free; you'll learn

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 faster as you see it. Then, when you've caught on,

 I'll play you for a half interest in the atomics trust—or

 ten bits in cash." He resumed dealing, laying the

 cards out rapidly in columns, five to a row. He

 paused, finished. "It's my deal, so it's your count.

 See what you get."

  

 It was evident thatBaldwin 's stacking had brought

 the red cards into groups, yet there was no evident

 advantage to it, nor was the count especially high—

 nor low.Gilead stared at it, trying to figure out the

 man's game. The cheating, as cheating seemed too

 bold to be probable.

  

 Suddenly the cards jumped at him, arranged them-

 selves in a meaningful array. He read:

  

 XTHXY

 CANXX

 XXXSE -

 HEARX •

  

 xusxx

  

 The fact that there were only two fives-of-hearts

 available had affected the spelling but the meaning

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 was clear.Gilead reached for the cards. "I'll try one.

 I can beat that score." He dipped into the tips be-

 longing to the suit's owner. "Ten bits it is."

  

 Baldwincovered it.Gilead shuffled, making even

 less attempt to cover up than hadBaldwin . He dealt:

  

 WHATS

  

 xxxxx

  

 XYOUR

  

 GAMEX

  

 XXXXX

  

 Baldwinshoved the money toward him and anted

 again. "Okay, my turn for revenge." He laid out:

  

 22

  

 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 XXIMX

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 XONXX

 YOURX

  

 xxxxx

  

 XSIDE

  

 "I win again,"Gilead announced gleefully. "Ante

 up." He grabbed the cards and manipulated them:

  

 YEAHX

  

 XXXXX

  

 PROVE

  

 XXITX

  

 XXXXX

  

 Baldwincounted and said, "You're too smart for

 me. Gimme the cards." He produced another ten-bit

 piece and dealt again:

  

 XXILX

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 HELPX

  

 XXYOU

  

 XGETX

  

 OUTXX

 "I should have cut the cards,"Gilead complained,

 pushing the money over. "Let's double the bets."

 Baldwingrunted andGilead dealt again:

  

 XNUTS

  

 IMXXX

  

 SAFER

  

 XXINX

  

 XGAOL

 "I broke your luck,"Baldwin gloated. "We'll dou-

 ble it again?"

  

 XUXRX

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 XNUTS

  

 THISX

  

 NOXXX

  

 XJAIL

 The deal shifted:

  

 KEEPX

  

 XTALK

  

 INGXX

  

 GULF               23

  

 XXXXX

 XBUDX

  

 Baldwinanswered:

  

 THISX

 XXXXX

  

 XXNEW

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 AGEXX

 XHOTL

  

 As he stacked the cards againGilead considered

 these new factors. He was prepared to believe that

 he was hidden somewhere in the New Age Hotel; in

 fact the counterproposition that his opponents had

 permitted two ordinary cops to take him away to a

 normal city jail was most unlikely—unless they had

 the jail as fully under control as they quite evidently

 had the hotel. Nevertheless the point was not proven.

 As forBaldwin , he might be onGilead 's side; more

 probably he was planted as an agent provocateur—or

 he might be working for himself.

  

 The permutations added up to six situations, only

 one of which made it desirable to acceptBaldwin 's

 offer for help in a Jail break—said situation being the

 least likely of the six.

  

 Nevertheless, though he considered Baldwin a liar,

 net, he tentatively decided to accept. A static situation

 brought him no advantage; a dynamic situation—any

 dynamic situation—he might turn to his advantage. But

 more data were needed. "These cards are sticky as

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 candy," he complained. "You letting your money ride?"

 "Suits."Gilead dealt again:

  

 XXXXX

 WHYXX

 AMXXX

 XXXXI

 XHERE

 "You have the damnedest luck," Baldwin commented:

  

 FILMS

 ESCAP

 BFORE

  

 24 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 XUXXX

  

 KRACK

  

 Gilead swept up the cards, was about to "shuffle,"

 when Baldwin said, "Oh oh, school's out." Footsteps

 could be heard in the passage. "Good luck, boy,"

 Baldwin added.

  

 Baldwin knew about the films, but had not used

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 any of the dozen ways to identify himself as part of

 Gilead's own organization. Therefore he was planted

 by the opposition, or he was a third factor.

  

 More important, the fact that Baldwin knew about

 the films proved his assertion that this was not a jail.

 It followed with bitter certainty that he, Gilead.

 stood no computable chance of getting out alive. The

 footsteps approaching the cell could be ticking off the

 last seconds of his life.

  

 He knew now that he should have found means to

 report the destination of the films before going to the

 New Age. But Humpty Dumpty was off the wall,

 entropy always increases—but the films must be

 delivered.

  

 The footsteps were quite close.

  

 Baldwin might get out alive.

  

 But who was Baldwin?

  

 All the while he was "shuffling" the cards. The

 action was not final; he had only to give them one

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 true shuffle to destroy the message being set up in

 them. A spider settled from the ceiling, landed on

 the other man's hand. Baldwin, instead of knocking

 it off and crushing it, most carefully reached his arm

 out toward the wall and encouraged it to lower itself

 to the floor. "Better stay out of the way, shorty," he

 said gently, "or one of the big boys is likely to step

 on you."

  

 The incident, small as it was, determined Gilead's

 decision—and with it, the fate of a planet. He stood

 up and handed the stacked deck to Baldwin. "I owe

 you exactly ten-sixty," he said carefully. "Be sure to

 remember it—I'll see who our visitors are."

  

 GULF               25

  

 The footsteps had stopped outside the cell door.

  

 There were two of then, dressed neither as police

 nor as guards; the masquerade was over. One stood

 well back, covering the maneuver with a Markheim,

 the other unlocked the door. "Back against the wall,

 Fatso," he ordered. "Gilead, out you come. And take

 it easy, or. after we freeze you, I'll knock out your

 teeth just for fun."

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 Baldwin shuffled back against the wall; Gilead came

 out slowly. He watched for any opening but the

 leader backed away from him without once getting

 between him and the man with the Markheim. "Ahead

 of us and take it slow," he was ordered. He com-

 plied, helpless under the precautions, unable to run,

 unable to fight.

  

 Baldwin went back to the bench when they had

 gone. He dealt out the cards as if playing solitaire,

 swept them up again, and continued to deal himself

 solitaire hands. Presently he "shuffled" the cards

 back to the exact order Gilead had left them in and

 pocketed them.

  

 The message had read; XTELLXFBSXPOBOXD

 EBTXXXCHI.

  

 His two guards marched Gilead into a room and

 locked the door behind him, leaving themselves out-

 side. He found himself in a large window overlook-

 ing the city and a reach of the river; balancing it on

 the left hung a solid portraying a lunar landscape in

 convincing color and depth. In front of him was a

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 rich but not ostentatious executive desk.

  

 The lower part of his mind took in these details;

  

 his attention could be centered only on the person

 who sat at that desk. She was old but not senile, frail

 but not helpless. Her eyes were very much alive,

 her expression serene. Her translucent, well-groomed

 hands were busy with a frame of embroidery.

  

 On the desk in front of her were two pneumo

 mailing tubes, a pair of slippers, and some tattered,

 soiled remnants of cloth and plastic.

  

 26 Robert A. HeinUin

  

 She looked up. "How do you do. Captain Gilead?"

 she said in a thin, sweet soprano suitable for singing

 hymns.

  

 Gilead bowed. "Well, thank you—and you, Mrs.

 Keithley?"

  

 "You know me, I see."

  

 "Madame would be famous if only for her charities."

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 "You are kind. Captain, I will not waste your time.

 I had hoped that we could release you without fuss,

 but—" She indicated the two tubes in front of her.

 "—you can see for yourself that we must deal with

 you further."

  

 "So?"

  

 "Come, now. Captain. You mailed three tubes.

 These two are only dummies, and the third did not

 reach its apparent destination. It is possible that it

 was badly addressed and has been rejected by the

 sorting machines. If so, we shall have it in due

 course. But it seems much more likely that you

 found some way to change its address—likely to the

 point of pragmatic certainty."

  

 "Or possibly I corrupted your servant."

  

 She shook her head slightly. "We examined him

 quite thoroughly before—"

  

 "Before he died?"

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "Please, Captain, let's not change the subject. I

 must know where you sent that other tube. You

 cannot be hypnotized by ordinary means; you have

 an acquired immunity to hypnotic drugs. Your toler-

 ance for pain extends beyond the threshold of uncon-

 sciousness. All of these things have already been

 proved, else you would not be in the job you are in;

  

 I shall not put either of us to the inconvenience of

 proving them again. Yet I must have that tube. What

 is your price?"

  

 "You assume that I have a price."

  

 She smiled. "If the old saw has any exceptions,

 history does not record them- Be reasonable, Cap-

 tain. Despite your admitted immunity to ordinary

  

 GULF               27

  

 forms of examination, there are ways of breaking

 down—of changing—a man's character so that he

 becomes really quite pliant under examination . . .

 ways that we learned from the commissars- But those

 ways take time and a woman my age has no time to

 waste-"

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 Gilead lied convincingly, "It's not your age, ma'am;

  

 it is the fact that you know that you must obtain that

 tube at once or you will never get it." He was

 hoping—more than that, he was wUling—that Bald-

 win would have sense enough to examine the cards

 for one last message . . . and act on it. If Baldwin

 failed and he, Gilead, died, the tube would eventu-

 ally come to rest in a dead-letter office and would in

 time be destroyed.

  

 "You are probably right. Nevertheless, Captain, I

 will go ahead with the Mindszenty technique if you

 insist upon it. What do you say to ten million pluto-

 nium credits?"

  

 Gilead believed her first statement. He reviewed

 in his mind the means by which a man bound hand

 and foot, or worse, could kill himself unassisted. *Ten

 million plutons and a knife''in my back?" he an-

 swered. "Let's be practical."

  

 "Convincing assurance would be given before you

 need talk."

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 "Even so, it is not my price. After all, you are

 worth at least five hundred million plutons."

  

 She leaned forward. "I like you. Captain. You are a

 man of strength. I am an old woman, without heirs.

 Suppose you became my partner—and my successor?"

  

 'Pie in the sky,"

  

 "No, no! I mean it. My age and sex do not permit

 me actively to serve myself; I must rely on others.

 Captain, I am very tired of inefficient tools, of men

 who can let things be spirited away right from under

 their noses. Imagine!" She made a little gesture of

 exasperation, clutching her hand into a claw. "You

 and I could go far. Captain. I need you."

  

 28 Robert A. Heirdein

  

 "But I do not need you, madame. And I won't

 have you."

  

 She made no answer, but touched a control on her

 desk. A door on the left dilated; two men and a girl

 came in. The girl Gilead recognized as the waitress

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 from the Grand Concourse Drug Store- They had

 stripped her bare, which seemed to him an unneces-

 sary indignity since her working uniform could not

 possibly have concealed a weapon.

  

 The girl, once inside, promptly blew her top, pro-

 testing, screaming, using language unusual to her

 age and sex—an hysterical, thalamic outburst of vol-

 canic proportions.

  

 "Quiet, child!"

  

 The girl stopped in midstream, looked with sur-

 prise at Mrs. Keithley, and shut up. Nor did she

 start again, but stood there, looking even younger

 than she was and somewhat aware of and put off

 stride by her nakedness. She was covered now with

 goose flesh, one tear cut a white line down her

 dust-smeared face, stopped at her lip. She licked at

 it and sniffled.

  

 "You were out of observation once. Captain," Mrs.

 Keithley went on, "during which time this person saw

 you twice. Therefore we will examine her."

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 Gilead shook his head. "She knows no more than a

 goldfish. But go ahead—five minutes of hypno will

 convince you.'

  

 "Oh, no. Captain! Hypno is sometimes fallible; if

 she is a member of your bureau, it is certain to be

 fallible." She signalled to one of the men attending

 the girl; he went to a cupboard and opened it. "I am

 old-fashioned," the old woman went on. "I trust sim-

 ple mechanical means much more than I do the

 cleverest of clinical procedures."

  

 Gilead saw the implements that the man was re-

 moving from cupboard and started forward. "Stop

 that!" he commanded. "You can't do that—"

  

 He bumped his nose quite hard.

  

 GULF               29

  

 The man paid him no attention. Mrs. Keithley

 said, "Forgive me, Captain. I should have told you

 that this room is not one room, but two. The parti-

 tion is merely glass, but very special glass—I use the

 room for difficult interviews. There is no need to

 hurt yourself by trying to reach us."

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 "Just a moment!"

  

 "Yes, Captain?"

  

 "Your time is already running out. Let the girl and

 me go free now. You are aware that there are several

 hundred men searching this city for me even now—

 and that they will not stop until they have taken it

 apart panel by panel."

  

 "I think not. A man answering your description to

 the last factor caught the South Africa rocket twenty

 minutes after you registered at the New Age hotel.

 He was carrying your very own identifications. He

 will not reach South Africa, but the manner of his

 disappearance will point to desertion rather than ac-

 cident or suicide."

  

 Gilead dropped the matter. "What do you plan to

 gain by abusing this child? You have all she knows;

  

 certainly you do not believe that we could afford to

 trust in such as she?"

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 Mrs. Keithley pursed her lips. "Frankly, I do not

 expect to learn anything from her. I may learn some-

 thing from you."

  

 "I see."

  

 The leader of the two men looked questioningly at

 his mistress; she motioned him to go ahead. The girl

 stared blankly at him, plainly unaware of the uses of

 the equipment he had gotten out. He and his part-

 ner got busy.

  

 Shortly the girl screamed, continued to scream for

 a few moments in a high ululation. Then it stopped as

 she fainted.

  

 They roused her and stood her up again. She

 stood, swaying and staring stupidly at her poor hands,

 forever damaged even for the futile purposes to which

  

 30 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 she had been capable of putting them. Blood spread

 down her wrists and dripped on a plastic tarpaulin,

 placed there earlier by the second of the two men.

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 Gilead did nothing and said nothing. Knowing as

 he did that the tube he was protecting contained

 matters measured in millions of lives, the problem of

 the girl, as a problem, did not even arise. It dis-

 turbed a deep and very ancient part of his brain, but

 almost automatically he cut that part off and lived for

 the time in his forebrain.

  

 Consciously he memorized the faces, skulls, and

 figures of the two men and filed the data under

 "personal." Thereafter he unobtrusively gave his at-

 tention to the scene out the window. He had been

 noting it all through the interview but he wanted to

 give it explicit thought. He recast what he saw in

 terms of what it would look like had be been able to

 look squarely out the window and decided that he

 was on the ninety-first floor of the New Age hotel

 and approximately one hundred and thirty meters

 from the north end. He filed this under "professional."

  

 When the girl died, Mrs. Keithley left the room

 without speaking to him. The men gathered up what

 was left in the tarpaulin and followed her. Presently

 the two guards returned and, using the same fool-

 proof methods, took him back to his cell.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 As soon as the guards had gone and Kettle Belly

 was free to leave his position against the wall he

 came forward and pounded Gilead on the shoulders.

 "Hi, boyl I'm sure glad to see you—I was scared I

 would never lay eyes on you again. How was it?

 Pretty rough?"

  

 "No, they didn't hurt me; they just asked some

 questions."

  

 "You're lucky. Some of those crazy damn cops play

 mean when they get you alone in a back room. Did

 they let you call your lawyer?"

  

 "No."

  

 GULF              31

  

 "Then they ain't through with you. You want to

 watch it, kid."

  

 Gilead sat down on the bench. "The hell with

 them. Want to play some more cards?"

  

 "Don't mind if I do. I feel lucky." Baldwin pulled

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 out the double deck, riffled through it. Gilead took

 them and did the same. Good! they were in the

 order he had left them in. He ran his thumb across

 the edges again—yes, even the black nulls were

 unchanged in sequence; apparently Kettle Belly had

 simply stuck them in his pocket without examining

 them, without suspecting that a last message had

 been written in to them. He felt sure that Baldwin

 would not have left the message set up if he had read

 it. Since he found himself still alive, he was much

 relieved to think this.

  

 He gave the cards one true shuffle, then started

 stacking them. His first lay-out read:

  

 xxxxx

  

 ESCAP

 XXATX

 XXXXX,

  

 XONCE .

  

 "Gotcha that time!" Baldwin crowed. "Ante up;"

 DIDXX

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 XYOUX

 XXXXX

  

 xxxxx

  

 CRACK

 "Let it ride," announced Gilead and took the deal;

  

 XXNOX

  

 BUTXX

  

 XXXXX

  

 XLETS

  

 XXGOX

 "You're too demed lucky to live," complained Bald-

 win. "Look—we'll leave the bets doubled and dou-

 ble the lay-out. I want a fair chance to get my money

 back."

  

 32 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 His next lay-out read:

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 xxxxx

  

 XTHXN

 XXXXX

 THXYX

 NEEDX

  

 xxxux

  

 ALIVX

 XXXXX

  

 PLAYX

 XXXUP

  

 "Didn't do you much good, did it?" Gilead com-

 mented, took the cards and started arranging them.

  

 "There's something mighty funny about a man that

 wins all the time," Baldwin grumbled. He watched

 Gilead narrowly. Suddenly his hand shot out, grabbed

 Gilead's wrist- "I thought so," he yelled. "A goddam

 card sharp—"

  

 Gilead shook his hand off. "Why, you obscene fat

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 slug!"

  

 "Caught you! Caught you?" Kettle Belly reclaimed

 his hold, grabbed the other wrist as well. They

 struggled and rolled to the floor.

  

 Gilead discovered two things: this awkward, bulky

 man was an artist at every form of dirty fighting and

 he could simulate it convincingly without damaging

 his partner. His nerve holds were an inch off the

 nerve; his kneeings were to thigh muscle rather than

 to the crotch.

  

 Baldwin tried for a chancery strangle; Gilead let

 him take it. The big man settled the flat of his

 forearm against the point of Gilead's chin rather than

 against his Adam's apple and proceeded to "strangle"

 him.

  

 There were running footsteps in the corridor.

  

 Gilead caught a glimpse of the guards as they

 reached the door- They stopped momentarily; the

 bell of the Markheim was too big to use through the

 steel grating, the charge would be screened and

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 GULF               33

  

 grounded. Apparently they did not have pacifier

 bombs with them, for they hesitated. Then the leader

 quickly unlocked the door, while the man with the

 Markheim dropped back to the cover position.

  

 Baldwin ignored them, while continuing his stream

 of profanity and abuse at Cilead. He let the first man

 almost reach them before he suddenly said in Gile-

 ad's ear, "Close your eyes!" At which he broke just

 as suddenly.

  

 Gilead sensed an incredibly dazzling flash of light

 even through his eyelids. Almost on top of it he

 heard a muffled crack; he opened his eyes and saw

 that the first man was down, his head twisted at a

 grotesque angle.

  

 The man with the Markheim was shaking his head;

  

 the muzzle of his weapon weaved around. Baldwin

 was charging him in a waddle, back and knees bent

 until he was hardly three feet tall. The blinded guard

 could hear him, let fly a charge in the direction of

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 the noise; it passed over Baldwin.

  

 Baldwin was on him; the two went down. There

 was another cracking noise of ruptured bone and

 another dead man. Baldwin stood up, grasping the

 Markheim, keeping it pointed down the corridor.

 "How are your eyes, kid?" he called out anxiously.

  

 "They're all right."

  

 "Then come take this chiller." Gilead moved up,

 took the Markheim. Baldwin ran to the dead end of

 the corridor where a window looked out over the

 city- The window did not open; there was no "copter

 step" beyond it. It was merely a straight drop. He

 came running back.

  

 Gilead was shuffling possibilities in his mind. Events

 had moved by Baldwin's plan, not by his. As a result

 of his visit to Mrs. Keithley's "interview room" he

 was oriented in space. The corridor ahead and a turn

 to the left should bring him to the quick-drop shaft.

 Once in the basement and armed with a Markheim,

 he felt sure that he could fight his way out—with

  

 34 Robert A. Heinlein

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 Baldwin in trail if the man would follow. If not—

 well, there was too much at stake.

  

 Baldwin was into the cell and out again almost at

 once. "Come along!" Gilead snapped. A head showed

 at the bend in the corridor; he let fly at it and the

 owner of the head passed out on the floor.

  

 "Out of my way, kid!" Baldwin answered. He was

 carrying the heavy bench on which they had "played"

 cards. He started up the corridor with it, toward the

 sealed window, gaining speed remarkably as he went.

  

 His makeshift battering ram struck the window

 heavily. The plastic bulged, ruptured, and snapped

 like a soap bubble. The bench went on through,

 disappeared from sight, while Baldwin teetered on

 hands and knees, a thousand feet of nothingness

 under his chin.

  

 "Kid!" he yelled. "Close inl Fall back!"

  

 Gilead backed towards him, firing twice more as

 he did so. He still did not see how Baldwin planned

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 to get out but the big man had demonstrated that he

 had resourcefulness—and resources.

  

 Baldwin was whistling through his fingers and

 waving. In violation of all city traffic rules a helicop-

 ter separated itself from the late afternoon throng,

 cut through a lane, and approached the window. It

 hovered just far enough away to keep from fouling its

 blades. The driver opened the door, a line snaked

 across and Kettle Belly caught it. With great speed

 he made it fast to the window's polarizer knob, then

 grabbed the Markheim. "You first," he snapped.

 "Hurry!"

  

 Gilead dropped to his knees and grasped the line;

  

 the driver immediately increased his tip speed and

 tilted his rotor; the line tautened. Gilead let it take

 his weight, then swarmed across it. The driver gave

 him a hand up while controlling his craft like a

 highschool horse with his other hand.

  

 The 'copter bucked; Gilead turned and saw Bald-

 win coming across, a fat spider on a web. As he

  

 GULF               35

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 himself helped the big man in, the driver reached

 down and cut the line. The ship bucked again and

 slid away-

  

 There were already men standing in the broken

 window. "Get lost, Steve!" Baldwin ordered. The

 driver gave his tip jets another notch and tilted the

 rotor still more; the 'copter swooped away. He eased

 it into the traffic stream and inquired, "Where to?"

  

 "Set her for home—and tell the other boys to go

 home, too. No—you've got your hands full; I'll tell

 them!" Baldwin crowded up into the other pilot's seat,

 slipped on phones and settled a quiet-mike over his

 mouth. The driver adjusted his car to the traffic, set

 up a combination on his pilot, then settled back and

 opened a picture magazine.

  

 Shortly Baldwin took off the phones and came

 back to the passenger compartment. 'Takes a lot of

 'copters to be sure you have one cruising by when

 you need it," he said conversationally. "Fortunately,

 I've got a lot of 'em. Oh, by the way, this is Steve

 Halliday. Steve, meet Joe—Joe, what is your last

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 name?"                   ^.

  

 "Greene," answered Gilead.

  

 "Howdy," said the driver and let his eyes go back

 to his magazine.

  

 Gilead considered the situation. He was not sure

 that it had been improved. Kettle Belly, whatever he

 was, was more than a used 'copter dealer—and he

 knew about the films. This boy Steve looked like a

 harmless young extrovert but, then. Kettle Belly

 himself looked like a lunk. He considered trying to

 overpower both of them, remembered Kettle Belly's

 virtuosity in rough-and-tumble fighting, and decided

 against it. Perhaps Kettle Belly really was on his

 side, completely and utterly. He heard rumors that

 the Department used more than one echelon of op-

 eratives and he had no way of being sure that he

 himself was at the top level.

  

 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 36

  

 "Kettle Belly," he went on, "could you set me

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 down at the airport first? I'm in one hell of a hurry."

  

 Baldwin looked him over. "Sure, if you say so. But

 I thought you would want to swap those duds? You're

 as conspicuous as a preacher at a stag party. And how

 are you fixed for cash?"

  

 With his fingers Gilead counted the change that

 had come with the suit. A man without cash had one

 arm in a sling. "How long would it take?"

  

 "Ten minutes extra, maybe."

  

 Gilead thought again about Kettle Belly's fighting

 ability and decided that there was no way for a fish in

 water to get any wetter. "Okay." He settled back and

 relaxed completely.

  

 Presently he turned again to Baldwin. "By the way,

 how did you manage to sneak in that dazzle bomb?"

  

 Kettle Belly chuckled. "I'm a large man, Joe; there's

 an awful lot of me to search." He laughed again.

 "You'd be amazed at where I had that hidden."

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 Gilead changed the subject. "How did you happen

 to be there in the first place?"

  

 Baldwin sobered. "That's a long and complicated

 story. Come back some day when you're not in such

 a rush and I'll tell you all about it."

  

 "I'll do that—soon."

  

 "Good. Maybe I can sell you that used Curtiss at

 the same time."

  

 The pilot alarm sounded; the driver put down his

 magazine and settled the craft on the roof of Bald-

 win's establishment.

  

 Baldwin was as good as his word. He took Gilead

 to his office, sent for clothes—which showed up with

 great speed—and handed Gilead a wad of bills suit-

 able to stuff a pillow. "You can mail it back," he said.

  

 "I'll bring it back in person," promised Gilead.

  

 "Good. Be careful out on the street. Some of our

 friends are sure to be around."

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "I'll be careful." He left, as casually as if he had

  

 GULF               37

  

 called there on business, but feeling less sure of

 himself than usual. Baldwin himself remained a mys-

 tery and, in his business, Gilead could not afford

 mysteries.

  

 There was a public phone booth in the lobby of

 Baldwin's building. Gilead went in, scrambled, then

 coded a different relay station from the one he had

 attempted to use before. He gave his booth's code

 and instructed the operator to scramble back. In a

 matter of minutes he was talking to his chief in New

 Washington.

  

 "Joe! Where the hell have you been?"

  

 "Later, boss—get this." In departmental oral code

 as an added precaution, he told his chief that the

 films were in post office box 1060, Chicago, and

 insisted that they be picked up by a major force at

 once.

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 His chief turned away from the view plate, then

 returned, "Okay, it's done- Now what happened to

 you?"

  

 "Later, boss, later. I think I've got some friends

 outside who are anxious to rassle with me. Keep me

 here and I may get a hole in my head."

  

 "Okay—but head right back here. I want a fall

 report; I'll wait here for you."

  

 "Right." He switched off.

  

 He left the booth light-heartedly, with the feeling

 of satisfaction that comes from a hard job successfully

 finished. He rather hoped that some of his "friends'

 would show up; he felt like kicking somebody who

 needed kicking.

  

 But they disappointed him. He boarded the transcon-

 tinental rocket without alarms and slept all the way

 to New Washington.

  

 He reached the Federal Bureau of Security by one

 of many concealed routes and went to his boss's

 office. After scan and voice check he was let in. Bonn

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 looked up and scowled.

  

 Gilead ignored the expression; Bonn usually scowled.

  

 38 Robert A. HeirUein

  

 "Agent Joseph Briggs, three-four-oh-nine-seven-two,

 reporting back from assignment, sir," he said evenly.

  

 Bonn switched a desk control to "recording" and

 another to "covert," "You are, eh? Why, thumb-

 fingered idiot! How do you dare to show your face

 around here?"

  

 "Easy now, boss—what's the trouble?"

  

 Bonn famed incoherently for a time, then said,

 "Briggs, twelve star men covered that pickup—and

 the box was empty. Post office box ten-sixty, Chi-

 cago, indeed! Where are those films? Was it a coverup?

 Have you got them with you?"

  

 Gilead-Briggs restrained his surprise. "No. I mailed

 them at the Grand Concourse post office to the ad-

 dress you just named." He added, "The machine

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 may have kicked them out; I was forced to letter by

 hand the machine symbols."

  

 Bonn looked suddenly hopeful. He touched an-

 other control and said, "Carruthersi On that Briggs

 matter: Check the rejection stations for that rout-

 ing." He thought and then added, "Then try a rejec-

 tion sequence on the assumption that the first symbol

 was acceptable to the machine but mistaken. Also for

 each of the other symbols; run diem simultaneously—

 crash priority for all agents and staff. After that try

 combinations of symbols taken two at a time, then

 three at a time, and so on." He switched off.

  

 'The total of that series you just set up is every

 postal address in the continent," Briggs suggested

 mildly. "It can't be done."

  

 "It s got to be done! Man, have you any idea of the

 importance of those films you were guarding?"

  

 "Yes. The director at Moon Base told me what I

 was carrying."

  

 "You don t act as if you did. You've lost the most

 valuable thing this or any other government can

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 possess—the absolute weapon. Yet you stand there

 blinking at me as if you had mislaid a pack of

 cigarettes."

  

 GULF               39

  

 "Weapon?" objected Briggs. "I wouldn't call the

 nova effect that, unless you class suicide as a weapon.

 And I don't concede that I've lost it. As an agent

 acting alone and charged primarily with keeping it

 out of die hands of others, I used the best means

 available in an emergency to protect it. That is well

 within the limits of my authority. I was spotted, by

 some means—"

  

 "You shouldn't have been spotted!"

  

 "Granted. But I was. I was unsupported and my

 estimate of the situation did not include a probability

 of staying alive. Therefore I had to protect my charge

 by some means which did not depend on my staying

 alive."

  

 "But you did stay alive—you're here."

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "Not my doing nor yours, I assure you. I should

 have been covered. It was your order, you will re-

 member, that I act alone."

  

 Bonn looked sullen. "That was necessary."

  

 "So? In any case, I don't see what all the shooting

 is about. Either the films show up, or they are lost

 and will be destroyed as unclaimed mail. So I go

 back to the Moon and get another set of prints."

  

 Bonn chewed his lip. "You can't do that."

  

 "Why not?"

  

 Bonn hesitated a long time. "There were just two

 sets. You had the originals, which were to be placed

 in a vault in the Archives—and the others were to be

 destroyed at once when the originals were known

 to be secure."

  

 "Yes? What's the hitch?"

  

 "You don't see the importance of the procedure.

 Every working paper, every file, every record was

 destroyed when these films were made. Every tech-

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 nician, every assistant, received hypno. The inten-

 tion was not only to protect the results of the research

 but to wipe out the very fact that the research had

 taken place. There aren't a dozen people in the

  

 40 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 system who even know of the existence of the nova

 effect."

  

 Briggs had his own opinions on this point, based

 on recent experience, but he kept still about them.

 Bonn went on, "The Secretary has been after me

 steadily to let him know when the originals were

 secured. He has been quite insistent, quite critical.

 When you called in, I told him that the films were

 safe and that he would have them in a few minutes."

  

 "Well?"

  

 "Don't you see. you fool—he gave the order at

 once to destroy the other copies."

  

 Briggs whistled. "Jumped the gun, didn't he?"

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "That's not the way he'll figure it—mind you, the

 President was pressuring him. He'll say that Z jumped

 the gun."

  

 "And so you did."

  

 "No. you jumped the gun. You told me the films

 were in that box."

  

 "Hardly. I said I had sent them there."

  

 "No, you didn't."

  

 "Get out the tape and play it back."

  

 "There is no tape—by the President's own order

 no records are kept on this operation."

  

 "So? Then why are you recording now?"

  

 "Because," Bonn answered sharply, "some one is

 going to pay for this and it is not going to be me."

  

 "Meaning," Briggs said slowly, "that it is going to

 be me."

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "I didn't say that. It might be the Secretary."

  

 "If his head rolls, so will yours. No, both of you

 are figuring on using me. Before you plan on that,

 hadn't you better hear my report? It might affect

 your plans. I've got news for you, boss."

  

 Bonn drummed the desk. "Go ahead. It had better

 be good."

  

 In a passionless monotone Briggs recited all events

 as recorded by sharp memory from receipt of the

  

 GULF               41

  

 films on the Moon to the present moment. Bonn

 listened impatiently.

  

 Finished, Briggs waited. Bonn got up and strode

 around the room. Finally he stopped and said. "Briggs,

 I never heard such a fantastic pack of lies in my life.

 A fat man who plays cards! A wallet that wasn't your

 wallet—your clothes stolen! And Mrs. Keithley—Mrs.

 Keithley! Don't you know that she is one of the

 strongest supporters of the Administration?"

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 Briggs said nothing. Bonn went on, "Now I'll tell

 you what actually did happen. Up to the time you

 grounded at Pied-a-Terre your report is correct, but—"

  

 "How do you know?"

  

 "Because you were covered, naturally. You don't

 think I would trust this to one man, do you?"

  

 "Why didn't you tell me? I could have hollered for

 help and saved all this."

  

 Bonn brushed it aside. "You engaged a runner,

 dismissed him, went in that drugstore, came out and

 went to the post office. There was no fight in the

 concourse for the simple reason that no one was

 following you. At the post office you mailed three

 tubes, one of which may or mav not have contained

 the films. You went from there to the New Age

 hotel, left it twenty minutes later and caught the

 transrocket for Cape Town. You—"

  

 "Just a moment," objected Briggs. "How could I

 have done that and still be here now?"

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "Eh?" For a moment Bonn seemed stumped. "That's

 just a detail; you were positively identified. For that

 matter, it would have been a far, fair better thing for

 you if you had stayed on that rocket. In fact—" The

 bureau chief got a far-away look in his eyes. "—you'll

 be better off for the time being if we assume officially

 that you did stay on that rocket. You are in a bad spot,

 Briggs, a very bad spot. You did not muff this

 assignment—you sold out!"

  

 Briggs looked at him levelly. "You are preferring

 charges?"

  

 42 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 "Not just now. That is why it is best to assume that

 you stayed on that rocket—until matters settle down,

 clarify."

  

 Briggs did not need a graph to show him what

 solution would come out when "matters clarified."

 He took from a pocket a memo pad, scribbled on it

 briefly, and handed it to Bonn.

  

 It read: "I resign my appointment effective imme-

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 diately." He had added signature, thumbprmt. date,

 and hour.

  

 "So long, boss," he added. He turned slightly, as if

 to go.

  

 Bonn yelled, "Stop! Briggs, you are under arrest."

 He reached toward his desk.

  

 Briggs cuffed him in the windpipe, added one to

 the pit of Bonn's stomach. He slowed down then and

 carefully made sure that Bonn would remain out for

 a satisfactory period. Examination of Bonn's desk

 produced a knockout kit; he added a two-hour hypo-

 dermic, placing it inconspicuously beside a mole near

 the man's backbone. He wiped the needle, restored

 everything to its proper place, removed the current

 record from the desk and wiped the tape of all men-

 tion of himself, including door check. He left the

 desk set to "covert" and "do not disturb" and left by

 another of the concealed routes to the Bureau.

  

 He went to the rocket port, bought a ticket, unre-

 served, for the first ship to Chicago. There was twenty

 minutes to wait; he made a couple of minor pur-

 chases from clerks rather than from machines, letting

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 his face be seen. When the Chicago ship was called

 he crowded forward with the rest.

  

 At the inner gate, just short of the weighing-in

 platform, he became part of the crowd present to see

 passengers off, rather than a passenger himself. He

 waved at some one in the line leaving the weighing

 station beyond the gate, smiled, called out a good-by,

 and let the crowd carry him back from the gate as it

 closed. He peeled off from the crowd at the men's

  

 GULF               43

  

 washroom. When he came out there were several

 hasty but effective changes in his appearance.

  

 More important, his manner was different.

  

 A short, illicit transaction in a saloon near a hiring

 hall provided the work card he needed; fifty-five

 minutes later he was headed across country as Jack

 Gillespie, loader and helper-driver on a diesel freighter,

  

 Could his addressing of the pneumo tube have

 been bad enough to cause the automatic postal ma-

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 chines to reject it? He let the picture of the label, as

 it had been when he had completed it, build in his

 mind until it was as sharp as the countryside flowing

 past him. No, his lettering of the symbols had been

 perfect and correct; the machines would accept it.

  

 Could the machine have kicked out the tube for

 another cause, say a turned-up edge of the gummed

 label? Yes, but the written label was sufficient to

 enable a postal clerk to get it back in the groove.

 One such delay did not exceed ten minutes, even

 during the rush hour. Even with five such delays

 the tube would have reached Chicago more than one

 hour before he reported to Bonn by phone.

  

 Suppose the gummed label had peeled off en-

 tirely; in such case the tube would have gone to the

 same destination as the two cover-up tubes.

  

 In which case Mrs. Keithley would have gotten it,

 since she had been able to intercept or receive the

 other two.

  

 Therefore the tube had reached the Chicago post

 office box.

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 Therefore Kettle Belly had read the message in

 the stacked cards, had given instructions to some one

 in Chicago, had done so while at the helicopter's

 radio. After an event, "possible" and "true" are equiv-

 alent ideas, whereas "probable" becomes a measure

 of one's ignorance. To call a conclusion "improbable"

 after the event was self-confusing amphigory.

  

 Therefore Kettle Belly Baldwin had the films—a

 conclusion he had reached in Bonn's office.

  

 44 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 Two hundred miles from New Washington he

 worked up an argument with the top driver and got

 himself fired. From a local booth in the town where

 he dropped he scrambled through to Baldwin's busi-

 ness office. "Tell him I'm a man who owes him

 money."

  

 Shortly the big man's face built up on the screen.

 "Hi, kid! How's tricks?"

  

 "I'm fired."

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "I thought you would be."

  

 "Worse than that—I'm wanted."

  

 "Naturally."

  

 "I'd like to talk with you,"

  

 "Swell. Where are you?"

  

 Gilead told him.

  

 "You're clean?"

  

 "For a few hours, at least."

  

 "Go to the local air port. Steve will pick you up."

  

 Steve did so, nodded a greeting, jumped his craft

 into the air, set his pilot, and went back to his

 reading. When the ship settled down on course,

 Gilead noted it and asked, "Where are we going?"

  

 "The boss's ranch. Didn't he tell you?"

  

 "No." Gilead knew it was possible that he was

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 being taken for a one-way ride. True, Baldwin had

 enabled him to escape an otherwise pragmatically

 certain death—it was certain that Mrs. Keithley had

 not intended to let him stay alive longer than suited

 her uses, else she would not have had the girl

 killed in his presence. Until he had arived at Bonn's

 office, he had assumed that Baldwin had saved him

 because he knew something that Baldwin most ur-

 gently wanted to know—whereas now it looked as if

 Baldwin had saved him for altruistic reasons.

  

 Gilead conceded the existence in this world of

 altruistic reasons, but was inclined not to treat them

 as "least hypothesis" until all other possible hypothe-

 ses had been eliminated; Baldwin might have had his

 own reasons for wishing him to live long enough to

  

 GULF               45

  

 report to New Washington and nevertheless be pleased

 to wipe him out now that he was a wanted man

 whose demise would cause no comment.

  

 Baldwin might even be a partner in these dark

 matters of Mrs. Keithley. In some ways that was the

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 simplest explanation though it left other factors unex-

 plained. In any case Baldwin was a key actor—and

 he had the films. The risk was necessary.

  

 Gilead did not worry about it. The factors known

 to him were chalked up on the blackboard of his

 mind, there to remain until enough variables be-

 come constants to permit a solution by logic. The

 ride was very pleasant.

  

 Steve put him down on the lawn of a large ram-

 bling ranch house, introduced him to a motherly old

 party named Mrs. Garver, and took off. "Make your-

 self at home, Joe," she told him, "Your room is the

 last one in the east wing—shower across from it,

 Supper in ten minutes."

  

 He thanked her and took the suggestion, getting

 back to the living room with a minute or two to

 spare. Several others, a dozen or more of both sexes,

 were there. The place seemed to. be a sort of a dude

 ranch—not entirely dude, as he had seen Herefords

 on the spread as Steve and he were landing-

  

 The other guests seemed to take his arrival as a

 matter of course. No one asked why he was there.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 One of the women introduced herself as Thalia Wagner

 and then took him around the group. Ma Garver

 came in swinging a dinner bell as this was going on

 and they all filed into a long, low dining room.

 Gilead could not remember when he had had so

 good a meal in such amusing company.

  

 After eleven hours of sleep, his first real rest in

 several days, he came fully, suddenly awake at a

 group of sounds his subconscious could not immedi-

 ately classify and refused to discount. He opened

 his eyes, swept the room with them, and was at once

  

 46 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 out of bed, crouching on the side away from the

 door-

 There were hurrying footsteps moving past his

 bedroom door. There were two voices, one male,

 one female, outside the door; the female was Thalia

 Wagner, the man he could not place.

  

 Male: "tsamaeq?"

  

 Female: "ntSt"

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 Male: "zutntst-."

  

 Female: "tpbit" New Jersey."

  

 These are not precisely the sounds that Gilead

 heard, first because of the limitations of phonetic

 symbols, and second because his ears were not used

 to the sounds. Hearing is a function of the brain, not

 of the ear; his brain, sophisticated as it was, never-

 theless insisted on forcing the sounds that reached

 his ears into familiar pockets rather than stop to

 create new ones.

  

 Thalia Wagner identified, he relaxed and stood up.

 Thalia was part of the unknown situation he accepted

 in coming here; a stranger known to her he must

 accept also. The new unknowns, including the odd

 language, he filed under "pending" and put aside.

  

 The clothes he had had were gone, but his money—

 Baldwin's money, rather—was where his clothes had

 been and with it his work card as Jack Gillespie and

 his few personal articles. By them some one had laid

 out a fresh pair of walking shorts and new sneakers,

 in his size.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 He noted, with almost shocking surprise, that some

 one had been able to serve him thus without waking

 him.

  

 He put on his shorts and shoes and went out.

 Thalia and her companion had left while he dressed.

 No one was about and he found the dining room

 empty, but three places were set, including his own

 of supper, and hot dishes and facilities were on the

 sideboard. He selected baked ham and hot rolls,

 fried four eggs, poured coffee. Twenty minutes later,

  

 GULF               47

  

 warmly replenished and still alone, he stepped out

 on the veranda.

  

 It was a beautiful day. He was drinking it in and

 eyeing with friendly interest a desert lark when a

 young woman came around the side of the house.

 She was dressed much as he was, allowing for differ-

 ence in sex, and she was comely, though not annoy-

 ingly so. "Good morning," he said.

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 She stopped, put her hands on her hips, and looked

 him up and down. "Well!" she said. "Why doesn't

 somebody tell me these things?"

  

 Then she added, "Are you married?"

  

 "No."

  

 "I'm shopping around. Object: matrimony. Let's

 get acquainted."

  

 "I'm a hard man to marry. I've been avoiding it for

 years."

  

 "They're all hard to marry." she said bitterly.

 "There's a new colt down at the corral. Come on."

  

 They went. The colt's name was War Conqueror of

 Baldwin; hers was Gail. After proper protocol with

 mare and son they left. "Unless you have pressing

 engagements," said Gail, "now is a salubrious time to

 go swimming."

  

 "If salubrious means what I think it does, yes."

  

 The spot was shaded by cottonwoods, the bottom

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 was sandy; for a while he felt like a boy again, with

 all such matters as lies and nova effects and death

 and violence away in some improbable, remote di-

 mension. After a long while he pulled himself up on

 the bank and said, "Gail, what does 'tsumaeq' mean?"

  

 "Come again?" she answered. "I had water in my

 ear."

  

 He repeated all of the conversation he had heard.

 She looked incredulous, then laughed. "You didn't

 hear that, Joe, you just didn't." She added "You got

 the 'New Jersey,' part right."

  

 "But I did."

  

 "Say it again."

  

 48 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 He did so, more carefully, and giving a fair imita-

 tion of the speakers' accents.

  

 Gail chortled. "I got the gist of it that time. That

 Thalia; someday some strong man is going to wring

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 her neck."

  

 "But what does it mean?"

  

 Gail gave him a long, sidewise look. "If you ever

 find out, I really will marry you, in spite of your

  

 protests."

  

 Some one was whistling from the hill top. "Joe! Joe

 Greene—the boss wants you."

  

 "Gotta go," he said to Gail. "G'bye."

  

 "See you later," she corrected him.

  

 Baldwin was waiting in a study as comfortable as

 himself. "Hi, Joe," he greeted him. "Grab a seatful

 of chair. They been treating you right?"

  

 "Yes, indeed. Do you always set as good a table as

 I've enjoyed so far?"

  

 Baldwin patted his middle. "How do you think I

 came by my nickname?"

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "Kettle Belly, I'd like a lot of explanations."

  

 "Joe, I'm right sorry you lost your job. If I'd had

 my druthers, it wouldn't have been the way it was."

  

 "Are you working with Mrs. Keithley?"

  

 "No. I'm against her."

  

 "I'd like to believe that, but I've no reason to—

 yet. What were you doing where I found you?"

  

 'They had grabbed me—Mrs. Keithley and her

  

 boys."

  

 "They just happened to grab you—and just hap-

 pened to stuff you in the same cell with me—and

 you just happened to know about the films I was

 supposed to be guarding—and you just happened to

 have a double deck of cards in your pocket? Now,

 really!"

  

 "If I hadn't had the cards, we would have found

 some other way to talk," Kettle Belly said mildly.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "Wouldn't we, now?"

  

 GULF               49

  

 "Yes. Granted."

  

 "I didn't mean to suggest that the set up was an

 accident. We had you covered from Moon Base;

  

 when you were grabbed—or rather as soon as you let

 them suck you into the New Age, I saw to it that

 they grabbed me too; I figured I might have a chance

 to lend you a hand, once I was inside." He added, "I

 kinda let them think that I was an FBS man, too."

  

 "I see. Then it was just luck that they locked us up

 together."

  

 "Not luck," Kettle Belly objected. "Luck is a bo-

 nus that follows careful planning—it's never free.

 There was a computable probability that they would

 put us together in hopes of finding out what they

 wanted to know. We hit the jackpot because we paid

 for the chance. If we hadn't, I would have had to

 crush out of that cell and look for you—but I had to

 be inside to do it."

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 "Who is Mrs. Keithley?"

  

 "Other than what she is publicly, I take it. She is

 the queen bee—or the black widow—of a gang. 'Gang'

 is a poor word—power group, maybe. One of several

 such groups, more or less tied together where their

 interests don't cross. Between them they divvy up

 the country for whatever they want like two cats

 splitting a gopher."

  

 Gilead nodded; he knew what Baldwin meant,

 though he had not known that the enormously re-

 spected Mrs. Keithley was in such matters—not un-

 til his nose had been rubbed in the fact. "And what

 are you. Kettle Belly?"

  

 "Now, Joe—I like you and I'm truly sorry you're

 in a jam. You led wrong a couple of times and I was

 obliged to trump, as the stakes were high. See here,

 I feel that I owe you something; what do you say to

 this: we'll fix you up with a brand-new personality.

 vacuum tight—even new fingerprints if you want

 them. Pick any spot on the globe you like and any

 occupation; we'll supply all the money you need to

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 50 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 start over—or money enough to retire and play with

 the cuties the rest of your life. What do you say?"

  

 "No." There was no hesitation.

  

 "You've no close relatives, no intimate trends. Think

 about it. I can't put you back in your job; this is the

 best I can do."

  

 "I've thought about it. The devil with the job, I

 want to finish my case! You're the key to it."

  

 "Reconsider, Joe. This is your chance to get out of

 affairs of state and lead a normal, happy life."

  

 " 'Happy,' he says!"

  

 "Well, safe, anyhow. If you insist on going further

 your life expectancy becomes extremely problem-

 atical. "

  

 "I don't recall ever having tried to play safe."

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "You're the doctor, Joe. In that case—" A speaker

 on Baldwin's desk uttered: "cenie B h(4g rylp."

  

 Baldwin answered, "nu," and sauntered quickly to

 the fireplace. An early-moming fire still smouldered

 in it. He grasped the mantel piece, pulled it toward

 him. The entire masonry assembly, hearth, mantel,

 and grate, came toward him, leaving an arch in the

 wall. "Duck down stairs, Joe," he said. "It's a raid."

  

 "A real priest's hole!"

  

 "Yeah, corny, ain't it? This joint has more bolt

 holes than a rabbit's nest—and booby-trapped, too.

 Too many gadgets, if you ask me." He went back to

 his desk, opened a drawer, removed three film spools

 and dropped them in a pocket.

  

 Gilead was about to go down the staircase; seeing

 the spools, he stopped. "Go ahead, Joe," Baldwin

 said urgently. "You're covered and outnumbered.

 With this raid showing up we wouldn't have time to

 fiddle; we'd just have to kill you."

  

 They stopped in a room well underground, an-

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 other study much like the one above, though lacking

 sunlight and view. Baldwin said something in the

 odd language to the mike on the desk, was answered.

  

 GULF                51

  

 Gilead experimented with the idea that the lingo

 might be reversed English, discarded the notion.

  

 "As I was saying," Baldwin went on, "if you are

 dead set on knowing all the answers—"

  

 "Just a moment. What about this raid?"

  

 "Just the government boys. They won't be rough

 and not too thorough. Ma Garver can handle them.

 We won't have to hurt anybody as long as they don't

 use penetration radar."

  

 Gilead smiled wryly at the disparagement of his

 own former service. "And if they do?"

  

 "That gimmick over there squeals like a pig, if it's

 touched by penetration frequencies. Even then we're

 safe against anything short of an A-bomb. They won't

 do that; they want the films, not a hole in the

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 ground. Which reminds me—here, catch."

  

 Gilead found himself suddenly in possession of the

 films which were at the root of the matter. He

 unspooled a few frames and made certain that they

 were indeed the right films. He sat still and consid-

 ered how he might get off this limb and back to the

 ground without dropping the eggs. The speaker again

 uttered something; Baldwin did .not answer it but

 said, "We won't be down here long."

  

 "Bonn seems to have decided to check my report."

 Some of his—former—comrades were upstairs. If he

 did Baldwin in, could he locate the inside control for

 the door?

  

 "Bonn is a poor sort. He'll check me—but not too

 thoroughly; I'm rich. He won't check Mrs. Keithley

 at all; she's too rich. He thinks with his political

 ambitions instead of his head. His late predecessor

 was a better man—he was one of us."

  

 Gilead's tentative plans underwent an abrupt re-

 versal. His oath had been to a government; his per-

 sonal loyalty had been given to his former boss.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "Prove that last remark and I shall be much inter-

 ested. "

  

 "No, you'll come to leam that it's true—if you still

  

 52 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 insist on knowing the answers. Through checking

 those films, Joe? Toss 'em back."

  

 Gilead did not do so. "I suppose you have made

  

 copies in any case?"

  

 "Wasn't necessary; I looked at them. Don't get

 ideas, Joe; you're washed up with the FBS, even if

 you brought the films and my head back on a platter.

 You slugged your boss—remember?"

  

 Gilead remembered that he had not told Baldwin

 so. He began to believe that Baldwin did have men

 inside the FBS, whether his late bureau chief had

 been one of them or not.

  

 "I would at least be allowed to resign with a clear

 record. I know Bonn—officially he would be happy to

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 forget it." He was simply stalling for time, waiting

 for Baldwin to oner an opening.

  

 "Chuck them back, Joe. I don't want to rassle.

 One of us might get killed—both of us, if you won

 the first round. You can't prove your case, because I

 can prove I was home teasing the cat. I sold 'copters

 to two very respectable citizens at the exact time you

 would claim I was somewhere else." He listened

 again to the speaker, answered it in the same

 gibberish.

  

 Gilead's mind evaluated his own tactical situation

 to the same answer that Baldwin had expressed. Not

 being given to wishful thinking he at once tossed the

 films to Baldwin.

  

 "Thanks, Joe." He went to a small oubliette set in

 the wall, switched if to full power, put the films in

 the hopper, waited a few seconds, and switched it

 off. "Good riddance to bad rubbish."

  

 Gilead permitted his eyebrows to climb. "Kettle

 Belly, you've managed to surprise me."

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "How?"

  

 "I thought you wanted to keep the nova effect as a

 means to power."

  

 "Nuts! Scalping a man is a hell of a poor way to

  

 GULF               53

  

 cure him of dandruff. Joe, how much do you know

 about the nova effect?"

  

 "Not much. I know it's a sort of atom bomb powerful

 enough to scare the pants off anybody who gets to

 thinking about it."

  

 "It's not a bomb. It's not a weapon. It's a means of

 destroying a planet and everything on it complete-

 ly—by turning that planet into a nova. If that's a

 weapon, military or political, then I'm Samson and

 you're Delilah.

  

 "But I'm not Samson," he went on, "and I don't

 propose to pull down the Temple—nor let anybody

 else do so. There are moral lice around who would

 do just that, if anybody tried to keep them from

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 having their own way. Mrs. Keithley is one such.

 Your boy friend Bonn is another such, if only he had

 the guts and the savvy—which he ain't. I'm bent on

 frustrating such people. Wl  do you know about

 ballistics, Joe?"

  

 "Grammar school stuff."

  

 "Inexcusable ignorance." The speaker sounded

 again; he answered it without lyeaking his flow. "The

 problem of three bodies still lacks a neat general

 solution, but there are several special solutions—the

 asteroids that chase Jupiter in Jupiter's own orbit at

 the sixty degree position, for example. And there's

 the straight-line solution—you've heard of the aster-

 oid 'Earth-Anti'?"

  

 "That's the chunk of rock that is always on the

 other side of the Sun, where we never see it."

  

 "That's right—only it ain't there any more. It's

 been novaed."

  

 Gilead, normally immune to surprise, had been

 subjected to one too many. "Huh? I thought this

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 nova effect was theory?"

  

 "Nope. If you had had time to scan through the

 films you would have seen pictures of it. It's a pluto-

 nium, lithium, and heavy water deal, with some

 flourishes we won't discuss. It adds up to the match

  

 54 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 that can set afire a world. It did—a little world flared

 up and was gone.

  

 "Nobody saw it happen. No one on Earth could

 see it, for it was behind the Sun. It couldn't have

 been seen from Moon Colony; the Sun still blanked

 it off from there—visualize the geometry. All that

 ever saw it were a battery of cameras in a robot ship.

 All who knew about it were the scientists who rigged

 it—and aU of them were with us, except the direc-

 tor- If he had been, too, you would never have been

 in this mix up,"

  

 "Dr. Finnley?"

  

 "Yep. A nice guy, but a mind like a pretzel. A

 'political' scientist, second-rate ability. He doesn't

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 matter; our boys will ride herd on him until he's

 pensioned off. But we couldn't keep him from re-

 porting and sending the films down. So I had to grab

 'em and destroy them."

  

 "Why didn't you simply save them? All other

 considerations aside, they are unique in science."

  

 "The human race doesn't need that bit of science,

 not this millenium. I saved all that mattered, Joe—in

 my head."

  

 "You are your cousin Hartley, aren't you?"

  

 "Of course. But I'm also Kettle Belly Baldwin, and

 several other guys."

  

 "You can be Lady Godiva, for all of me."

  

 "As Hartley, I was entitled to those films, Joe. It

 was my project. I instigated it, through my boys."

  

 "I never credited Finnley with it. I'm not a physi-

 cist, but he obviously isn't up to it."

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "Sure, sure. I was attempting to prove that an

 artificial nova could not be created; the political—the

 racial—importance of establishing the point is obvi-

 ous. It backfired on me—so we had to go into emer-

 gency action."

  

 "Perhaps you should have left well enough alone."

  

 "No. It s better to know the worst; now we can be

 alert for it, divert research away from it." The speaker

  

 GULF               55

  

 growled again; Baldwin went on. "There may be a

 divine destiny, Joe, unlikely as it seems, that makes

 really dangerous secrets too difficult to be broached

 until intelligence reaches the point where it can cope

 with them—if said intelligence has the will and me

 good intentions. Ma Garver says to come up now."

  

 They headed for the stairs. "I'm surprised that you

 leave it up to an old gal like Ma to take charge during

 an emergency."

  

 "She's competent, I assure you. But I was running

 things—you heard me."

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 "Oh."

  

 They settled down again in die above-surface study.

 "I give you one more chance to back out, Joe. It

 doesn't matter that you know all about the films,

 since they are gone and you can't prove anything—

 but beyond that—you realize that if you come in

 with us, are told what is going on, you will be killed

 deader than a duck at the first suspicious move?"

  

 Gilead did; he knew in fact that he was already

 beyond the point of no return. With the destruction

 of the films went his last chance of rehabilitating his

 former main persona. This gave him no worry; the

 matter was done. He had become aware that from

 the time he had admitted that he understood the

 first message this man had offered him concealed in a

 double deck of cards he had no longer been a free

 actor, his moves had been constrained by moves

 made by Baldwin. Yet there was no help for it; his

 future lay here or nowhere.

  

 "I know it; go ahead."

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "I know what your mental reservations are, Joe;

  

 you are simply accepting risk; not promising loyalty."

  

 "Yes—but why are you considering taking a chance

 on me?"

  

 Baldwin was more serious in manner than he usu-

 ally allowed himself to be. '*You're an able man, Joe.

 You have the savvy and the moral courage to do what

  

 56

  

 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 is reasonable in an odd situation rather than what is

 conventional."

  

 'That's why you want me?"

  

 "Partly that. Partly because I like the way you

 catch on to a new card game." He grinned. "And

 even partly because Gail likes the way you behave

 with a colt."

  

 "Gail? What's she got to do with it?"

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 "She reported on you to me about five minutes

 ago, during the raid."

  

 "Hmm—go ahead."

  

 "You've been warned." For a moment Baldwin

 looked almost sheepish. "I want you to take what I

 say next at its face value, Joe—don't laugh."

  

 "Okay."

  

 "You asked what I was. I'm sort of the executive

 secretary of this branch of an organization of super-

 men."

  

 "I thought so."

  

 "Eh? How long have you known?"

  

 "Things added up. The card game, your reaction

 time. I knew it when you destroyed the films.'*

  

 "Joe, what is a superman?"

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 Gilead did not answer.

  

 "Very well, let's chuck the term," Baldwin went

 on. "It's been overused and misused and beat up

 until it has mostly comic connotations. I used it for

 shock value and I didn't shock you. The term

 'supermen' has come to have a fairy tale meaning,

 conjuring up pictures of x-ray eyes, odd sense or-

 ^ns, double hearts, uncuttable skin, steel muscles—an

 adolescent's dream of the dragon-killing hero. Tripe,

 of course. Joe, what is a man? What is man that

 makes him more than an animal? Settle that and

 we'll take a crack at denning a superman—or New

 Man, konw novis, who must displace homo sapiens—is

 displacing him—because he is better able to survive

 than is homo sap. I'm not trying to define myself, I'll

 leave it up to my associates and the inexorable pro-

  

 GULF               57

  

 cesses of time as to whether or not I am a superman,

 a member of the new species of man—same test to

 apply to you."

  

 "Me?"

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "You. You show disturbing symptoms of being homo

 novis, Joe, in a sloppy, ignorant, untrained fashion.

 Not likely, but you just might be one of the breed.

 Now—what is man? What is the one thing he can do

 better than animals which is so strong a survival

 factor that it outweighs all the things that animals of

 one sort or another can do much better than he

 can?"

  

 "He can think,"

  

 "I fed you that answer; no prize for it. Okay, you

 pass yourself off a man; let's see you do something,

 What is the one possible conceivable factor—or fac-

 tors, if you prefer—which the hypothetical superman

 could have, by mutation or magic or any means, and

 which could be added to this advantage which man

 already has and which has enabled him to dominate

 this planet against the unceasing opposition of a mil-

 lion other species of fauna? ,§ome factor that would

 make the domination of man by his successor, as

 inevitable as your domination over a hound dog?

 Think, Joe. What is the necessary direction of evolu-

 tion to the next dominant species?"

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 Giiead engaged in contemplation for what was for

 him a long time. There were so many lovely attri-

 butes that a man might have: to be able to see both

 like a telescope and microscope, to see the insides of

 things, to see throughout the spectrum, to have hear-

 ing of the same order, to be immune to disease, to

 grow a new arm or leg, to fly through the air without

 bothering with silly gadgets like helicopters or jets,

 to walk unharmed the ocean bottom, to work without

 tiring—

  

 Yet the eagle could fly and he was nearly extinct,

 even though his eyesight was better than man's. A

 dog has better smell and hearing; seals swim better,

  

 58

  

 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 balance better, and furthermore can store oxygen.

 Bats can survive where men would starve or die of

 hardship; they are smart and pesky hard to kill. Rats

  

 could—

  

 Wait! Could tougher, smarter rats displace man?

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 No, it Just wasn't in them; too small a brain.

  

 "To be able to think better," Gilead answered

  

 almost instantly.

 "Hand the man a cigar! Supermen are superthinkers;

  

 anything else is a side issue. I'll allow the possibility

 ofsuper-somethings which might exterminate or dom-

 inate mankind other than by outsmarting him in his

 own racket—thought. But I deny that it is possible

 for a man to conceive in discrete terms what such a

 super-something would be or how this something

 would win out. New Man will beat out homo sap in

 homo sap's own specialty—rational thought, the abil-

 ity to recognize data, store them, integrate them,

 evaluate correctly the result, and arrive at a correct

 decision. That is how man got to be champion; the

 creature who can do it better is the coming cham-

 pion. Sure, there are other survival factors, good

 health, good sense organs, fast reflexes, but they

 aren't even comparable, as the long, rough history of

 mankind has proved over and over—Marat in his

 bath, Roosevelt in his wheelchair, Caesar with his

 epilepsy and his bad stomach. Nelson with one eye

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 and one arm, blind Milton; when the chips are down

 it's brain that wins, not the body's tools.'

  

 "Stop a moment," said Gilead. "How about

  

 E.s.p.r

  

 Baldwin shrugged. "I'm not sneering at extra-sensory

 perception any more than I would at exceptional

 eyesight—E.S.P. is not in the same league with the

 ability to think correctly. E.S.P. is a grab bag name

 for the means other than the known sense organs by

 which the brain may gather data—but the trick that

 pays off with first prize is to make use of that data, to

 reason about it. If you would like a telepathic hook

  

 GULF               59

  

 up to Shanghai, I can arrange it; we've got operators

 at both ends—but you can get whatever data you

 might happen to need from Shanghai by phone with

 less trouble, less chance of a bad connection, and

 less danger of somebody listening in. Telepaths can't

 pick up a radio message; it's not the same wave

 band."

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "What wave band is it?"

  

 "Later, later. You've got a lot to leam."

  

 "I wasn't thinking especially of telepathy. I was

 thinking of all parapsychological phenomena."

  

 "Same reasoning. Appellation would be nice, if

 telekinetics had gotten that far—which it ain't. But a

 pick-up truck moves things handily enough. Televi-

 sion in the hands of an intelligent man counts for

 more than clairvoyance in a moron. Quit wasting my

 time, Joe."

  

 "Sorry."

  

 "We defined thinking as integrating data and arriv-

 ing at correct answers. Look around you. Most peo-

 ple do that stunt just well enough to get to the

 corner store and back without breaking a leg. If the

 average man thinks at all, he^ does silly things like

 generalizing from a single datum. He uses one-valued

 logics. If he is exceptionally bright, he may use two-

 valued, 'either-or' logic to arrive at his wrong an-

 swers. If he is hungry, hurt, or personally interested

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 in the answer, he can't use any sort of logic and will

 discard an observed fact as blithely as he will stake

 his life on a piece of wishful thinking. He uses the

 technical miracles created by superior men without

 wonder nor surprise, as a kitten accepts a bowl of

 milk. Far from aspiring to higher reasoning, he is not

 even aware that higher reasoning exists. He classes

 his own mental process as being of the same sort as

 the genius of an Einstein. Man is not a rational

 animal; he is a rationalizing animal.

  

 "For explanations of a universe that confuses him

 he seizes onto numerology, astrology, hysterical reli-

  

 60 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 gions, and other fancy ways to go crazy. Having

 accepted such glorified nonsense, facts make no im-

 pression on him, even if at the cost of his own life.

 Joe, one of the hardest things to believe is the abys-

 mal depth of human stupidity.

  

 "That is why there is always room at the top, why

 a man with just a leetle more on the ball can so easily

 become governor, millionaire, or college president—

 and why homo sap is sure to be displaced by New

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 Man, because there is so much room for improve-

 ment and evolution never stops.

  

 "Here and there among ordinary men ^s a rare

 individual who really thinks, can and does use logic

 in at least one field—he's often as stupid as the rest

 outside his study or laboratory—but he can think, if

 he's not disturbed or sick or frightened. This rare

 individual is responsible for aU the progress made by

 the race; the others reluctantly adopt his results.

 Much as the ordinary man dislikes and distrusts and

 persecutes the process of thinking he is forced to

 accept the results occasionally, because thinking is

 efficient compared with his own maunderings. He

 may still plant his corn in the dark of the Moon but

 he will plant better corn developed by better men

 than he.

  

 "Still rarer is the man who thinks habitually, who

 applies reason, rather than habit pattern, to aU his

 activity. Unless he masques himself, his is a danger-

 ous life; he is regarded as queer, untrustworthy,

 subversive of pubhc morals; he is a pink monkey

 among brown monkeys—a fatal mistake. Unless the

 pink monkey can dye himself brown before he is

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 caught.

  

 "The brown monkey's instinct to kill is correct;

  

 such men are dangerous to all monkey customs.

  

 "Rarest of all is the man who can and does reason

 at all times, quickly, accurately, inclusively, despite

 hope or fear or bodily distress, without egocentric

 bias or thahnic disturbance, with correct memory,

  

 GULF               61

  

 with clear distinction between fact, assumption, and

 non-fact. Such men exist, Joe; they are 'New Man*

 —human in all respects, indistinguishable in appear-

 ance or under the scalpel from homo sap, yet as

 unlike him in action as the Sun is unlike a single

 candle."

  

 Gilead said, "Are you that sort?"

  

 "You will continue to form your own opinions."

  

 "And you think I may be, too?"

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "Could be. I'll have more data in a few days."

  

 Gilead laughed until the tears came. "Kettle Belly,

 if I'm the future hope of the race, they had better

 send in the second team quick. Sure I'm brighter

 than most of the jerks I run into, but, as you say, the

 competition isn't stiff. But I haven't any sublime

 aspirations. I've got as lecherous an eye as the next

 man. I enjoy wasting time over a glass of beer. I Just

 don't feel like a superman."

  

 "Speaking of beer, let's have some." Baldwin got

 up and obtained two cans of the brew. "Remember

 that Mowgli felt like a wolf. Being a New Man does

 not divorce you from human^ sympathies and plea-

 sures. There have been New Men all through his-

 tory; I doubt if most of them suspected that their

 difference entitled them to call themselves a different

 breed. Then they went ahead and bred with the

 daughters of men, diffusing their talents through the

 racial organism, preventing them from effectuating

 until chance brought the genetic factors together

 again."

  

 "Then I take it that New Man is not a special

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 mutation?"

  

 "Huh? Who isn't a mutation, Joe? All of us are a

 collection of millions of mutations. Around the globe

 hundreds of mutations have taken place in our hu-

 man germ plasm while we have been sitting here.

 No, homo novis didn't come about because great

 grandfather stood too close to a cyclotron; homo novis

 was not even a separate breed until he became aware

  

 62 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 of himself, organized, and decided to hang on to

 what his genes had handed him. You could mix New

 Man back into the race today and lose him; he's

 merely a variation becoming a species. A million

 years from now is another matter; I venture to pre-

 dict that New Man, of that year and model, won't be

 able to interbreed with homo sap—no viable off-

 spring."

  

 "You don't expect present man—homo sapiens—to

 disappear?"

  

 "Not necessarily. The dog adapted to man. Proba-

 bly more dogs now than in umpteen B.C.—and

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 better fed."

  

 "And man would be New Man's dog."

  

 "Again not necessarily. Consider the cat."

  

 'The idea is to skim the cream of the race's germ

 plasm and keep it biologically separate until the two

 races are permanently distinct. You chaps sound like

 a bunch of stinkers. Kettle Belly."

  

 "Monkey talk,"

  

 "Perhaps. The new race would necessarily run

 things—"

  

 "Do you expect New Man to decide grave matters

 by counting common man's runny noses?"

  

 "No, that was my point. Postulating such a new

 race, the result is inevitable. Kettle Belly, I confess

 to a monkey prejudice in favor of democracy, human

 dignity, and freedom. It goes beyond logic; it is the

 kind of a world I like. In my job I have jungled with

 the outcasts of society, snared their slumgullion. Stu-

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 pid they may be, bad they are not—I have no wish

 to see them become domestic animals."

  

 For the first time the big man showed concern.

 His persona as "King of the Kopsters," master mer-

 chandiser, slipped away; he sat in brooding majesty,

 a lonely and unhappy figure. "I know, Joe. They are

 of us; their little dignities, their nobilities, are not

 lessened by their sorry state. Yet it must be."

  

 GULF              63

  

 "Why? New Man will come—granted. But why

 hurry the process?"

  

 "Ask yourself." He swept a hand toward the

 oubliette. 'Ten minutes ago you and I saved this

 planet, all our race. It's the hour of the knife. Some

 one must be on guard if the race is to live; there is

 no one but us. To guard effectively we New Men

 must be organized, must never fumble any crisis like

 this—and must increase our numbers. We are few

 now, Joe; as the crises increase, we must increase to

 meet them. Eventually—and it's a dead race with

 time—we must take over and make certain that baby

 never plays with matches."

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 He stopped and brooded. "I confess to that same

 affection for democracy, Joe. But it's like yearning

 for the Santa Claus you believed in as a child. For a

 hundred and fifty years or so democracy, or some-

 thing like it, could flourish safely. The issues were

 such as to be settled without disaster by the votes of

 common men, befogged and ignorant as they were.

 But now, if the race is simply to stay alive, political

 decisions depend on real knowledge of such things as

 nuclear physics, planetary ecology, genetic theory,

 even system mechanics. They aren't up to it, Joe.

 With goodness and more will than they possess less

 than one in a thousand could stay awake over one

 page of nuclear physics; they can't learn what they

 must know."

  

 Gilead brushed it aside. "It's up to us to brief

 them. Their hearts are all right; tell them the score—

 they'll come down with the right answers."

  

 "No, Joe. We've tried it; it does not work. As you

 say, most of them are good, the way a dog can be

 noble and good. Yet there are bad ones—Mrs.

 Keithley and company and more like her. Reason is

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 poor propaganda when opposed by the yammering,

 unceasing lies of shrewd and evil and self-serving

 men. The little man has no way to judge and the

  

 64 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 shoddy lies are packaged more attractively. There is

 no way to offer color to a colorblind man, nor is there

 any way for us to give the man of imperfect brain

 the canny skill to distinguish a lie from a truth.

  

 "No, Joe. The gulf between us and them is nar-

 row, but it is very deep. We cannot close it."

  

 "I wish," said Gilead, "that you wouldn't class me

 with your 'New Man', I feel more at home on the

 other side."

  

 "You will decide for yourself which side you are

 on, as each of us has done."

  

 Gilead forced a change in subject. Ordinarily im-

 mune to thalamic disturbance this issue upset him;

  

 his brain followed Baldwin's argument and assured

 him that it was true; his inclinations fought it. He

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 was confronted with the sharpest of all tragedy; two

 equally noble and valid rights, utterly opposed. "What

 do you people do, aside from stealing films?"

  

 "Mmm—many things." Baldwin relaxed, looked

 again like a jovial sharp businessman. "Where a push

 here and a touch there will keep things from going to

 pot, we apply the pressure, by many and devious

 means. And we scout for suitable material and bring it

 into the fold when we can—we've had our eye on

 you for ten years."

  

 ;;So?"

  

 "Yep. That is a prime enterprise. Through public

 data we eliminate all but about one tenth of one per

 cent; that thousandth individual we watch. And then

 there are our horticultural societies." He grinned.

  

 "Finish your joke."

  

 "We weed people."

  

 "Sorry, I'm slow today."

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "Joe, didn't you ever feel a yen to wipe out some

 evil, obscene, rotten jerk who infected everything he

 touched, yet was immune to legal action? We treat

 them as cancers; we excise them from die body

 social. We keep a 'Better Dead' list; when a man is

  

 GULF               65

  

 clearly morally bankrupt we close his account at the

 first opportunity."

  

 Gilead smiled. "If you were sure what you were

 doing, it could be fun."

  

 "We are always sure, though our methods would

 be no good in a monkey law court. Take Mrs.

 Keithley—is there doubt in your mind?"

  

 "None."

  

 "Why don't you have her indicted? Don't bother

 to answer. For example, two weeks from tonight

 there will be giant pow-wow of the new, rejuve-

 nated, bigger-and-better-than-ever Ku Klux Klan on

 a mountain top down Carolina way- When the fun is

 at its height, when they are mouthing obscenities,

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 working each other up to the pogrom spirit, an act of

 God is going to wipe out the whole kit and kaboodle.

 Very sad."

  

 "Could I get in on that?"

  

 "You aren t even a cadet as yet." Baldwin went on.

 "There is the project to increase our numbers, but

 that is thousand-year program; you'd need a perpet-

 ual calendar to check it. More important is keeping

 matches away from baby. Joe, it's been eighty-five

 years since we beheaded the ?ast commissar: have

 you wondered why so little basic progress in science

 has been made in that time?"

  

 "Eh? There have been a lot of changes."

  

 "Minor adaptations—some spectacular, almost none

 of them basic. Of course there was very little prog-

 ress made under communism; a totalitarian political

 religion is incompatible with free investigation. Let

 me digress: the communist interregnum was respon-

 sible for the New Men getting together and organiz-

 ing. Most New Men are scientists, for obvious reasons.

 When the commissars started ruling on natural laws

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 by political criteria—Lysenko-ism and similar non-

 sense—it did not sit well; a lot of us went under-

 ground.

  

 "I'll skip the details. It brought us together, gave

  

 66 Robert A. HeirUein

  

 us practice in underground activity, and gave a back-

 log of new research, carried out underground. Some

 of it was obviously dangerous; we decided to hang

 onto it for a while. Since then such secret knowledge

 has grown, for we never give out an item until it has

 been scrutinized for social hazards. Since much of it

 is dangerous and since very few indeed outside our

 organization are capable of real original thinking,

 basic science has been almost at a—pubucl—standstill.

  

 "We hadn't expected to have to do it that way. We

 helped to see to it that the new constitution was

 liberal and—we thought—workable. But the new Re-

 public turned out to be an even poorer thing than

 the old. The evil ethic of communism had corrupted,

 even after the form was gone. We held oS. Now we

 know that we must hold off until we can revise the

 whole society."

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 "Kettle Belly," Joe said slowly, "you speak as if

 you had been on the spot. How old are you?"

  

 "I'll tell you when you are the age I am now. A

 man has lived long enough when he no longer longs

 to live. I ain't there yet. Joe, I must have your

 answer, or this must be continued in our next."

  

 "You had it at the beginning—but, see here. Ket-

 tle Belly, there is one job I want promised to me."

  

 "Which is?"

  

 "I want to kill Mrs. Keithley."

  

 "Keep your pants on. When you're trained, and if

 she's stiU alive then, youll be used for that purpose—"

  

 "Thanks!"

  

 "—provided you are the proper tool for it." Bald-

 win turned toward the mike, called out, "Gail!" and

 added one word in the strange tongue.

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 Gail showed up promptly. "Joe," said Baldwin,

 "when this young lady gets through with you, you

 will be able to sing, whistle, chew gum, play chess,

 hold your breath, and fly a kite simultaneously—and

 all this while riding a bicycle under water. Take him,

 sis, he's all yours."

  

 GULF

 Gail rubbed her hands. "Oh, boyl"

  

 67

  

 "First we must teach you to see and to hear, then

 to remember, then to speak, and then to think."

  

 Joe looked at her. "What's this I'm doing with my

 mouth at this moment?"

  

 "It's not talking, it's a sort of grunting. Furthermore

 English is not structurally suited to thinking. Shut

 up and listen."

  

 In their underground classroom Gail had available

 several types of apparatus to record and manipulate

 light and sound. She commenced throwing groups of

 figures on a screen, in flashes. "What was it, Joe?"

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 "Nine-six-oh-seven-two—That was as far as I got."

  

 "It was up there a full thousandth of a second.

 Why did you get only the left hand side of the

 group?"

  

 "That's all the farther I had read."

  

 "Look at all of it. Don't make an effort of will; just

 look at it." She flashed another number.

  

 Joe's memory was naturally good; his intelligence

 was high—just how high he did not yet know. Un-

 convinced that the drill was useful, he relaxed and

 played along. Soon he was beginning to grasp a

 nine-digit array as a single gestatt; Gail reduced die

 flash time.

  

 "What is this magic lantern gimmick?" he inquired.

  

 "It's a Renshaw tachistoscope. Back to work."

  

 Around World War II Dr. Samuel Renshaw at the

 Ohio State University was proving that most people

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 are about one-fifth efficient in using their capacities to

 see, hear, taste, feel and remember. His research

 was swallowed in the morass of communist pseudo-

 science that obtained after World War III, but, after

 his death, his findings were preserved underground.

 Gail did not expose Gilead to the odd language he

 had heard until he had been rather thoroughly

 Renshawed.

  

 However, from the time of his interview with Bald-

  

 68 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 win the other persons at the ranch used it in his

 presence- Sometimes someone—usually Ma Carver—

 would translate, sometimes not. He was flattered to

 feel accepted, but gravelled to know that it was at

 the lowest cadetship. He was a child among adults.

  

 Gail started teaching him to hear by speaking to

 him single words from the odd language, requiring

 him to repeat them back. "No, Joe. Watch.' This

 time when she spoke the word it appeared on the

 screen in sound analysis, by a means basically like

 one long used to show the deaf-and-dumb their speech

 mistakes. "Now you try it."

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 He did, the two arrays hung side by side. "How's

 that, teacher?" he said triumphantly.

  

 terrible, by several decimal places. You held the

 final guttural too long—" She pointed. "—the middle

 vowel was formed with your tongue too high and you

 pitched it too low and you failed to let the pitch rise.

 And six other things. You couldn't possibly have

 been understood. I heard what you said, but it was

 gibberish. Try again. And don't call me 'teacher.' "

  

 "Yes, ma'am," he answered solemnly.

  

 She shifted the controls; he tried again. This time

 his analysis array was laid down on top of hers;

  

 where the two matched, they cancelled. Where they

 did not match, his errors stood out in contrasting

 colors. The screen looked like a sun burst.

  

 "Try again, Joe." She repeated the word without

 letting it affect the display.

  

 "Confound it, if you would tell me what the words

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 mean instead of treating me the way Milton treated

 his daughters about Latin, I could remember them

 easier."

  

 She shrugged. "I can't, Joe. You must leam to

 hear and to speak first. Speedtalk is a flexible lan-

 guage; the same word is not likely to recur. This

 practice word means: The far horizons draw no

 nearer.' That's not much help, is it?"

  

 The definition seemed improbable, but he was

  

 GULF               69

  

 learning not to doubt her. He was not used to women

 who were always two jumps ahead of him. He ordi-

 narily felt sorry for the poor little helpless cuddly

 creatures; this one he often wanted to slug. He won-

 dered if this response were what the romancers meant

 by "love"; he decided that it couldn't be.

  

 "Try again, Joe." Speedtalk was a structurally dif-

 ferent speech from any the race had ever used. Long

 before, Ogden and Richards bad shown that eight

 hundred and fifty words were sufficient vocabulary to

 express anything that could be expressed by "nor-

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 mal" human vocabularies, with the aid of a handful of

 special words—a hundred odd—for each special field,

 such as horse racing or ballistics. About the same

 time phoneticians had analyzed all human tongues

 into about a hundred-odd sounds, represented by

 the letters of a general phonetic alphabet.

  

 On these two propositions Speedtalk was based.

  

 To be sure, the phonetic alphabet was much less

 in number than the words in Basic English. But the

 letters representing sound in the phonetic alphabet

 were each capable ofvariation.several different ways—

 length, stress, pitch, rising, falling. The more trained

 an ear was the larger the number of possible varia-

 tions; there was no limit to variations, but, without

 much refinement of accepted phonetic practice, it

 was possible to establish a one-to-one relationship

 with Basic English so that one phonetic symbol was

 equivalent to an entire word in a "normal" lan-

 guage, one Speedtalk word was equal to an entire

 sentence. The language consequently was learned by

 letter units rather than by word units—but each

 word was spoken and listened to as a single struc-

 tured gestalt.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 But Speedtalk was not "shorthand" Basic English.

 "Normal" languages, having their roots in days of

 superstition and ignorance, have in them inherently

 and unescapably wrong structures of mistaken ideas

  

 ttoDert A. tteinlein

  

 about the universe. One can think logically in English

 only by extreme effort so bad it is as a mental tool.

 For example, the verb "to be" in English has twenty-

 one distinct meanings, every single one of which is

 false-to-fact.

  

 A symbolic structure, invented instead of accepted

 without question, can be made similar in structure to

 the real-world to which it refers. The structure of

 Speedtalk did not contain the hidden errors of En-

 glish; it was structured as much like the real world

 as the New Men could make it. For example, it did

 not contain the unreal distinction between nouns and

 verbs found in most other languages. The world—

 the continuum known to science and including all

 human activity—does not contain "noun things" and

 "verb things"; it contains space-time events and rela-

 tionships between them. The advantage for achiev-

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 ing truth, or something more nearly like truth, was

 similar to the advantage of keeping account books in

 Arabic numerals rather than Roman.

  

 All other languages made scientific, multi-valued

 logic almost impossible to achieve; in Speedtalk it

 was as difficult not to be logical. Compare die pellu-

 cid Boolean logic with the obscurities of the Aristo-

 telean logic it supplanted.

  

 Paradoxes are verbal, do not exist in the real

 world—and Speedtalk did not have such built into it.

 Who shaves the Spanish Barber? Answer: follow him

 around and see. In the syntax of Speedtalk the para-

 dox of the Spanish Barber could not even be ex-

 pressed, save as a self-evident error.

  

 But Joe Greene-Gilead-Briggs could not learn it

 until he had learned to hear, by learning to speak.

 He slaved away; the screen continued to remain

 lighted with his errors.

  

 Came finally a time when Joe's pronunciation of a

 sentence-word blanked out Gail's sample; the screen

 turned dark. He felt more triumph over that than

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 anything be could remember.

  

 GULF               71

  

 His delight was short. By a circuit Gail had thought-

 fully added somedays earlier the machine answered

 with a flourish of trumpets, loud applause, and then

 added in a cooing voice, "Mama's good boyl"

  

 He turned to her. "Woman, you spoke of matri-

 mony. If you ever do manage to marry me, I'll beat

 you.'

  

 "I haven't made up my mind about you yet," she

 answered evenly. "Now try this word, Joe—"

  

 Baldwin showed up that evening called him aside.

 "Joel C'mere. Listen, lover boy, you keep your animal

 nature out of your work, or Ili have to find you a new

 teacher."

  

 "T*  .   *'

  

 But—

  

 "You heard me. Take her swimming, take her

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 riding, after hours you are on your own. Work time—

 strictly business. I ve got plans for you; I want you to

 get smarted up."

  

 "She complained about me?"

  

 "Don't be silly. It's my business to know what's

 going on."

  

 "Hmm. Kettle Belly, what is this shopping-for-a"

 husband she kids about? Is she serious, or is it just

 intended to rattle me?"

  

 **Ask her. Not that it matters, as you won't have

 any choice if she means it. She has the calm persis-

 tence of the law of gravitation."

  

 "Ouch! I had had the impression that the 'New

 Men' did not bother with marriage and such like, as

 you put it, 'monkey customs.' "

  

 "Some do, some don't. Me, I've been married

 quite a piece, but I mind a mousy little member of

 our lodge who had had nine kids by nine fathers—all

 wonderful genius-plus kids. On the other hand I can

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 point out one with eleven kids—Thalia Wagner—who

 has never so much as looked at another man. Ge-

 niuses make their own rules in such matters, Joe;

  

 they always have. Here are some established statisti-

 cal fects about genius, as shown by Armatoe's work—"

  

 72 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 He ticked them off. "Geniuses are usually long lived.

 They are not modest, not honestly so. They have

 infinite capacity for taking pains. They are emotion-

 ally indifferent to accepted codes of morals—they

 make their own rules. You seem to have the stigmata,

 by the way."

  

 'Thanks for nothing. Maybe I should have a new

 teacher, is there anyone else available who can do

 it."

  

 "Any of us can do it, just as anybody handy teaches

 a baby to talk. She's actually a biochemist, when she

 has time for it."

  

 "When she has time?"

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "Be careful of that Idd, son. Her real profession is

 the same as yours—honorable hatchet man. She's

 killed upwards of three hundred people." Kettle Belly

 grinned- "If you want to switch teachers, just drop

 me a wink."

  

 Gilead-Greene hastily changed the subject. "You

 were speaking of work for me; how about Mrs.

 Keithley? Is she still alive?"

  

 "Yes, blast her."

  

 "Remember, I've got dibs on her."

  

 "You may have to go to the Moon to get her. She's

 reported to be building a vacation home there. Old

 age seems to be telling on her; you had better get on

 with your home work if you want a crack at her."

 Moon Colony even then was a center of geriatrics for

 the rich. The low gravity was easy on their hearts,

 made them feel young—and possibly extended their

 lives.

  

 "Okay, I will."

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 Instead of asking for a new teacher Joe took a

 highly polished apple to their next session. Gail ate

 it, leaving him very little core, and put him harder to

 work than ever. While perfecting his hearing and

 pronunciation, she started him on the basic thousand-

 tetter vocabulary by forcing him to start to talk sim-

 ple three and four-letter sentences, and by answering

  

 GULF               73

  

 him in different word-sentences using the same pho-

 netic letters. Some of the vowel and consonant se-

 quences were very difficult to pronounce.

  

 Master them he did- He had been used to doing

 most things easier than could those around him; now

 he was in very fast company. He stretched himself

 and began to achieve part of his own large latent

 capacity. When he began to catch some of the dinner-

 table conversation and to reply in simple Speedtalk—

 being forbidden by Gail to answer in English—she

 started him on the ancillary vocabularies.

  

 An economical language cannot be limited to a

 thousand words; although almost every idea can be

 expressed somehow in a short vocabulary, higher

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 orders of abstraction are convenient. For technical

 words Speedtalk employed an open expansion of sixty

 of the thousand-odd phonetic letters. They were the

 letters ordinarily used as numerals; by preceding a

 number with a letter used for no other purpose, the

 symbol was designated as having a word value.

  

 New Men numbered to the base sixty—three times

 four times five, a convenient, easily factored system,

 most economical, i. e., the symbol "100" identified

 the number described in English as thirty-six hun-

 dred—yet permitting quick, in-the-head translation

 from common notation to Speedtalk figures and vice

 versa.

  

 By using these figures, each prefaced by the

 indicator—a voiceless Welsh or Burmese "1"—a pool

 of 215,999 words (one less than the cube of sixty)

 were available for specialized meaning without using

 more than four letters including the indicator. Most

 of them could be pronounced as one syllable. These

 had not the stark simplicity of basic Speedtalk;

  

 nevertheless words such as "ichthyophagous" and

 "constitutionality" were thus compressed to mono-

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 syllables. Such shortcuts can best be appreciated by

 anyone who has heard a long speech in Cantonese

 translated into a short speech in English. Yet English

  

 74 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 is not the most terse of "normal" languages—and

 expanded Speedtalk is many times more economical

 than the briefest of "normal" tongues.

  

 By adding one more letter (sixty to the fourth

 power) just short of thirteen nuflion words could be

 added if needed—and most of them could still be

 pronounced as one syllable.

  

 When Joe discovered that Gail expected him to

 leam a couple of hundred thousand new words in a

 matter of days, he balked. "Damn it. Fancy Pants, I

 am not a superman. I'm in here by mistake."

  

 "Your opinion is worthless; I think you can do it.

 Now listen."

  

 "Suppose I flunk; does that put me safely off your

 list of possible victims?"

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "If you flunk, I wouldn't have you on toast. In-

 stead I'd tear your head off and stuff it down your

 throat. But you won't flunk; I know. However," she

 added, "I'm not sure you would be a satisfactory

 husband; you argue too much."

  

 He made a brief and bitter remark in Speedtalk;

  

 she answered with one word which described his

 shortcomings in detail. They got to work.

  

 Joe was mistaken; he learned the expanded vocab-

 ulary as fast as he heard it. He had a latent eidetic

 memory; the Renshawing process now enabled him

 to use it fully. And his mental processes, always fast,

 had become faster than he knew.

  

 The ability to leam Speedtalk at all is proof of

 supernormal intelligence; the use of it by such

 intelligence renders that mind efficient. Even before

 World War II Alfred Korzybski had shown that hu-

 man thought was performed, when done efficiently,

 only in symbols; the notion of "pure" thought, free of

 abstracted speech symbols, was merely fantasy. The

 brain was so constructed as to work without symbols

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 only on the animal level; to speak of "reasoning"

 without symbols was to speak nonsense.

  

 CULF               75

  

 Speedtalk did not merely speed up communica-

 tion—by its structures it made thought more logical;

  

 by its economy it made thought processes enormously

 fester, since it takes almost as long to think a word

 as it does to speak it.

  

 Korzybsld's monumental work went fallow during

 the communist interregnum; DOS Kapitcd is a childish

 piece of work, when analyzed by semantics, so the

 politburo suppressed semantics—and replaced it by

 ersatz under me same name, as Lysenkoism replaced

 the science of genetics.

  

 Having Speedtalk to help him leam more Speedtalk,

 Joe learned very rapidly. The Renshawing had con-

 tinued; he was now able to grasp a gestalt or configu-

 ration in many senses at once, grasp it, remember it,

 reason about it with great speed.

  

 Living time is not calendar time; a man's life is the

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 thought that flows through his brain. Any man capa-

 ble of learning Speedtalk had an association time at

 least three times as fast as an ordinary man. Speedtalk

 itself enabled him to manipulate symbols approxi-

 mately seven times as fast as English symbols could

 be manipulated. Seven times three is twenty-one; a

 new man had an effective life time of at least sixteen

 hundred years, reckoned in flow of ideas.

  

 They had time to become encyclopedic synthe-

 sists, something denied any ordinary man by the

 straitjacket of his sort of time.

  

 When Joe had learned to talk. to read and write

 and cipher, Gail turned him over to others for his

 real education. But before she checked him out she

 played him several dirty tricks.

  

 For three days she forbade him to eat. When it

 was evident that he could think and keep his temper

 despite low blood-sugar count, despite hunger re-

 flex. she added sleeplessness and pain—intense, long,

 continued, and varied pain. She tried subtly to goad

 him into irrational action; he remained bedrock steady,

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 76 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 his mind clicking away at any assigned task as depend-

 ably as an electronic computer.

  

 "Who's not a superman?" she asked at the end of

 their last session.

  

 "Yes, teacher."

  

 "Come here, lug." She grabbed him by the ears,

 kissed him soundly. "So long." He did not see her

 again for many weeks.

  

 His tutor in E.S,P. was an ineffectual-looking lit-

 tle man who had taken the protective coloration of

 the name Weems. Joe was not very good at produc-

 ing E.S.P. phenomena. Clairvoyance he did not

 appear to have. He was better at precognition, but

 he did not improve with practice. He was best at

 telekinesis; he could have made a soft living with

 dice. But, as Kettle Belly had pointed out, from

 affecting the roll of dice to moving tons of freight was

 quite a gap—and one possibly not worth bridging.

  

 "It may have other uses, however," Weems had

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 said softly, lapsing into English. "Consider what might

 be done if one could influence the probability that a

 neutron would reach a particular nucleus—or change

 the statistical probability in a mass."

  

 Gilead let it ride; it was an outrageous thought.

  

 At telepathy he was erratic to exasperation. He

 called the Rhine cards once without a miss, then had

 poor scores for three weeks. More highly structured

 communication seemed quite beyond him, until one

 day without apparent cause but during an attempt to

 call the cards by telepathy, he found himself hooked

 in with Weems for all of ten seconds—time enough

 for a thousand words by Speedtalk standards.

  

 —it comes out us speech!

  

 —why not? thought is speech.

  

 —how do we do it?

  

 —if ice knew it would not be so unreliable, as it is,

 some can do it by volition, some by accident, and

 some never seem to be able to do it. we do know this:

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 GULF               77

  

 while thought may not be of the physical world in

 any fashion we can now define and manipulate, it is

 similar to events in continuum in its quantal nature.

 You are now studying the extension of the quantum

 concept to all features of the continuum, you know

 the chronon, the mensum, and the viton, as quanta,

 as weU as the action units of quanta such as the

 photon. The continuum has not only structure but

 texture in all its features. The least unit of thought

 we term the psychon.

  

 —define it. put salt on its tail.

  

 —some day, some day. I can tell you this; the

 fastest possible rate of thought is one psychon per

 chronon; this is a basic, universal constant.

  

 —how close do we come to that?

  

 —less than sixty-to-the-minus-third-power of the

 possibility.

  

 —! ! ! ! ! !

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 —better creatures than ourselves will foUow us.

 We pick pebbles at a boundless ocean.

  

 —what can we do to improve it?

  

 —gather our pebbles with serene minds.

 Gilead paused for a long split second of thought.

 —can psychons be destroyed?

  

 —citons may be transferred, psychons are—

  

 The connection was suddenly destroyed. "As I was

 saying," Weems went on quietly, "psychons are as

 yet beyond our comprehension in many respects.

 Theory indicates that they may not be destroyed,

 that thought, like action, is persistent. Whether or

 not such theory, if true, means that personal identity

 is also persistent must remain an open question. See

 the daily papers—a few hundred years from now—or

 a few hundred thousand." He stood up.

  

 "I'm anxious to try tomorrow's session, Doc,"

 Gilead-Greene almost bubbled. "Maybe—"

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "I'm finished with you."

  

 "But, Doctor Weems, that connection was clear as

 a phone hook-up. Perhaps tomorrow—"

  

 78 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 "We have established that your talent is erratic.

 We have no way to train it to dependability. Time is

 too short to waste, mine and yours." Lapsing sud-

 denly into English, he added, "No."

  

 Gilead left.

  

 During his training in other fields Joe was exposed

 to many things best described as impressive gadgets.

 There was an integrating pantograph, a factory-in-a-

 box, which the New Men planned to turn over to

 ordinary men as soon as the social system was no

 longer dominated by economic wolves. It could and

 did reproduce almost any prototype placed on its

 stage, requiring thereto only materials and power.

 Its power came from a little nucleonics motor the

 size of Joe's thumb; its theory played hob with con-

 ventional notions of entropy. One put in "sausage";

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 one got out "pig."

  

 Latent in it was the shape of an economic system

 as different from the current one as the assembly-

 line economy differed from the family-shop system—

 and in such a system lay possibilities of human freedom

 and dignity missing for centuries, if they had ever

 existed.

  

 In the meantime New Men rarely bought more

 than one of anything—a pattern. Or they made a

 pattern.

  

 Another useful but hardly wonderful gadget was

 a dictaphone-typewriter-printing-press combination.

 The machine's analysers recognized each of the

 thousand-odd phonetic symbols; there was a typebar

 for each sound. It produced one or many copies.

 Much of Gilead's education came from pages printed

 by this gadget, saving the precious time of others.

  

 The arrangement, classification, and accessibility

 of knowledge remains in all ages the most pressing

 problem. With the New Men, complete and organ-

 ized memory licked most of the problem and ren-

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 dered record keeping, most reading and writing—and

  

 GULF                 79

  

 most especially the time-destroying trouble of re-

 reading—unnecessary. The autoscriber gadget, com-

 bined with a "librarian" machine that could "hear"

 that portion of Speedtalk built into it as a filing

 system, covered most of the rest of the problem.

 New Men were not cluttered with endless bits of

 paper. They never wrote memoranda.

  

 The area under the ranch was crowded with tech-

 nological wonders, all newer than next week. Incred-

 ibly tiny manipulators for micrurgy of all sorts, surgical,

 chemical, biological manipulation, oddities of cyber-

 netics only less complex than the human brain—the

 list is too long to describe. Joe did not study all of

 them; an encyclopedic synthesist is concerned with

 structured shapes of knowledge; he cannot, even

 with Speedtalk, study details in every field.

  

 Early in his education, when it was clear that he

 had had the potential to finish the course, plastic

 surgery was started to give him a new identity and

 basic appearance. His height was reduced by three

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 inches; his skull was somewhat changed; his com-

 plexion was permanently darkened. Gail picked the

 facial appearance he was given; he did not object. He

 rather liked it; it seemed to fit his new inner

 personality.

  

 With a new face, a new brain, and-a new outlook,

 he was almost in fact a new man. Before he had been

 a natural genius; now he was a trained genius.

  

 "Joe, how about some riding?"

  

 "Suits."

  

 "I want to give War Conqueror some gentle exer-

 cise. He's responding to the saddle; I don't want him

 to forget."

  

 "Right with you."

  

 Kettle Belly and Gilead-Greene rode out from the

 ranch buildings. Baldwin let the young horse settle

 to a walk and began to talk. "I figure you are about

  

 80 Robert A. Heinlein

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 ready for work, son." Even in Speedtalk Kettle Bel-

 ly's speech retained his own flavor.

  

 "I suppose so, but I still have those mental

 reservations."

  

 "Not sure we are on the side of the angels?"

  

 "I'm sure you mean to be. It's evident that the

 organization selects for good will and humane inten-

 tions quite as carefully as for ability. I wasn't sure at

 one time—"

  

 "Yes?"

  

 "That candidate who came here about six months

 ago, the one who broke his neck in a riding accident."

  

 "Oh, yesi Very sad."

  

 "Very opportune, you mean. Kettle Belly,"

  

 "Damn it, Joe, if a bad apple gets in this far, we

 can't let him out." Baldwin reverted to English for

 swearing purposes; he maintained that it had "more

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 juice,"

  

 "I know it. That's why I'm sure about the quality

 of our people."

  

 "So it's 'our people' now?"

  

 "Yes. But I'm not sure we are on the right track."

  

 "What's your notion of the right track?"

  

 "We should come out of hiding and teach the

 ordinary man what he can leam of what we know.

 He could leam a lot of it and could use it. Properly

 briefed and trained, he could run his affairs pretty

 well. He would gladly kick out the no-goods who ride

 on his shoulders, if only he knew how. We could

 show him. That would be more to the point than this

 business of spot assassination, now and then, here

 and there—mind you, I don't object to lolling any

 man who merits killing; I simply say it's inefficient.

 No doubt we would have to continue to guard against

 such crises as the one that brought you and me

 together, but, in the main, people could run their

 own affairs if we would just stop pretending that we

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 are so scared we can't mix with people, come out of

 our hole, and lend a hand."

  

 GULF              81

  

 Baldwin reined up. "Don't say that I don't mix

 with the common people, Joe; I sell used 'copters for

 a living. You can t get any commoner. And don't

 imply that my heart is not with them. We are not

 like them, but we are tied to them by the strongest

 bond of all, for we are all, each every one, sickening

 with the same certainly fetal disease—we are alive.

  

 "As for our killings, you don't understand the prin-

 ciples of assassination as a political weapon. Read—"

 He named a Speedtalk library designation. "If I were

 knocked off, our organization wouldn't even hiccup,

 1 but organizations for bad purposes are different. They

 are personal empires; if you pick the time and the

 method, you can destroy such an organization by

 killing one man—the parts that remain will be almost

 harmless until assimilated by another leader—then

 you kill him. It is not inefficient; it's quite efficient, if

 planned with the brain and not with the emotions.

  

 "As for keeping ourselves separate, we are about

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 like the U-235 in U-238, not effective unless sepa-

 rated out. There have been potential New Men in

 every generation, but they were spread too thin.

  

 "As for keeping our existence secret, it is utterly

 necessary if we are to survive and increase. There is

 nothing so dangerous as being the Chosen People—

 and in the minority. One group was persecuted for

 two thousand years merely for making the claim."

  

 He again shifted to English to swear. "Damn it,

 Joe, face up to it. This world is run the way my great

 aunt Susie flies a 'copter. Speedtalk or no Speedtalk,

 common man can't learn to cope with modern prob-

 lems. No use to talk about the unused potential of

 his brain, he has not got the will to learn what he

 would have to know. We can't fit him out with new

 genes, so we have to lead him by the hand to keep

 him from killing himself—and us. We can give him

 personal liberty, we can give him autonomy in most

 things, we can give him a great measure of personal

  

 82 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 dignity—and we will, because we believe that indi-

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 vidual freedom, at all levels, is the direction of evo-

 lution, of maximum survival value. But we can't let

 him fiddle with issues of racial life and death; he ain't

 up to it.

  

 "No help for it. Each shape of society develops its

 own ethic. We are shaping this the way we are

 inexorably forced to, by the logic of events. We think

 we are shaping it toward survival."

  

 "Are we?" mused Greene-Gilead.

  

 "Remains to be seen. Survivors survive. We'll

 know—Wup! Meeting's adjourned."

  

 The radio on Baldwin's pommel was shrilling his

 personal emergency call. He listened, then spoke

 one sharp word in Speedtalk. "Back to the house,

 Joe!" He wheeled and was away. Joe's mount came

 of less selected stock; he was forced to follow.

  

 Baldwin sent for Joe soon after he got back. Joe

 went in; Gail was already there,

  

 Baldwin's face was without expression. He said in

 English, "I've work for you, Joe, work you won't

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 have any doubt about. Mrs. Keithley."

  

 "Good."

  

 "Not good." Baldwin shifted to Speedtalk. "We

 have been caught flat-footed. Either the second set

 of films was never destroyed, or there was a third

 set. We do not know; the man who could tell us is

 dead. But Mrs. Keithley obtained a set and has been

 using them.

  

 *This is the situation. The 'fuse' of the nova effect

 has been installed in the New Age hotel. It has been

 sealed off and can be triggered only by radio signal

 from the Moon—her signal. The 'fuse' has been rigged

 so that any attempt to break in, as long as the firing

 circuit is still armed, will trigger it and set it off.

 Even an attempt to examine it by penetration wave-

 lengths will set it off. Speaking as a physicist, it is my

 considered opinion that no plan for tackling the 'nova'

  

 GULF

  

 83

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 fuse bomb itself will work unless the arming circuit is

 first broken on the Moon and that no attempt should

 be made to get at the fuse before then, because of ex-

 treme danger to the entire planet.

  

 'The arming circuit and the radio relay to the

 Earthside trigger is located on the Moon in a build-

 ing inside her private dome. The triggering control

 she keeps with her. From the same control she can

 disarm the arming circuit temporarily; it is a combi-

 nation dead-man switch and time-clock arrangement.

 It can be set to disarm for a maximum of twelve

 hours, to let her sleep, or possibly to permit her to

 order rearrangements. Unless it is switched off any

 attempt to enter the building in which the arming

 circuit is housed will also trigger the 'Nova' bomb

 circuit. While it is disarmed, the housing on the

 Moon may be broached by force but this will set off

 alarms which will warn her to rearm and then to

 trigger at once. The set up is such that the following

 sequence of events must take place:

  

 "First, she must be killed, and the circuit disarmed.

  

 "Second, the building housing the arming circuit

 and radio relay to the trigger must be broken open

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 and the circuits destroyed before the time clock can

 rearm and trigger- This must be done with speed,

 not only because of guards, but because her surviv-

 ing lieutenants will attempt to seize power by

 possessing themselves of the controls.

  

 "Third, as soon as word is received on Earth that

 the arming circuit is destroyed, the New Age will be

 attacked in force and the 'Nova' bomb destroyed.

  

 "Fourth, as soon as the bomb is destroyed, a gen-

 eral round up must be made of all persons techni-

 cally capable of setting up the 'Nova' effect from

 plans. This alert must be maintained until it is cer-

 tain that no plans remain in existence, including the

 third set of films, and further established by hypno

 that no competent person possesses sufficient knowl-

  

 84 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 edge to set it up without plans. This alert may com-

 promise our secret status; the risk must be taken.

  

 "Any questions?"

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "Kettle Belly," said Joe, "doesn't she know that if

 the Earth becomes a nova, the Moon will be swal-

 lowed up in the disaster?"

  

 "Crater walls shield her dome from line-of-sight

 with Earth; apparently she believes she is safe. Evil

 is essentially stupid, Joe; despite her brilliance, she

 believes what she wishes to believe. Or it may be

 that she is willing to risk her own death against the

 tempting prize of absolute power. Her plan is to

 proclaim power with some pious nonsense about being

 high priestess of peace—a euphemism for Empress of

 Earth. It is a typical paranoid deviation; the proof of

 the craziness lies in the fact that the physical ar-

 rangements make it certain—if we do not intervene—

 that Earth will be destroyed automatically a few hours

 after her death; a thing that could happen any time—

 and a compelling reason for all speed. No one has

 ever quite managed to conquer all of Earth, not even

 the commissars. Apparently she wishes not only to

 conquer it, but wants to destroy it after she is gone,

 lest anyone else ever manage to do so again. Any

 more questions?"

  

 He went on. "The plan is this;

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 '"You two will go to the Moon to become domestic

 servants to Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Copley, a rich,

 elderly couple living at the Elysian Rest Homes,

 Moon Colony. They are of us. Shortly they will

 decide to return to Earth; you two will decide to

 remain, you like it. You will advertise, offering to

 work for anyone who will post your return bond.

 About this time Mrs. Keithley wiil have lost, through

 circumstances that will be arranged, two or more of

 her servants; she will probably hire you, since do-

 mestic service is the scarcest commodity on the Moon.

 If not, a variation will be arranged for you.

  

 GULF               85

  

 "When you are inside her dome, youll maneuver

 yourselves into positions to carry out your assign-

 ments. When both of you are so placed, you will

 carry out procedures one and two with speed.

  

 "A person named McGinty, already inside her

 dome, will help you in communication. He is not

 one of us but is our agent, a telepath. His ability

 does not extend past that. Your communication hook

 up will probably be, Gail to McGinty by telepathy,

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 McGinty to Joe by concealed radio."

  

 Joe glanced at Gail; it was the first that he had

 known that she was a telepath. Baldwin went on,

 "Gail will kill Mrs. Keithley; Joe will break into the

 housing and destroy the circuits. Are you ready to

  

 go?"

  

 Joe was about to suggest swapping the assignments

 when Gait answered, "Ready"; he echoed her.

  

 "Good. Joe, you will carry your assumed I.Q. at

 about 85, Gail at 95; she will appear to be the domi-,

 nant member of a married couple—" Gail grinned at

 Joe. "—but you, Joe, will be in charge. Your person-

 alities and histories are now being made up and will

 be ready with your identifications. Let me say again

 that the greatest of speed is necessary; government

 security forces here may attempt a fool-hardy attack

 on the New Age hotel. We shall prevent or delay

 such efforts, but act with speed. Good luck."

  

 Operation Black Widow, first phase, went off as

 planned. Eleven days later Joe and Gail were inside

 Mrs. Keithley's dome on the moon and sharing a

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 room in the servants' quarters. Gail glanced around

 when first they entered it and said in Speedtalk,

 "Now you'll have to marry me; I'm compromised."

  

 "Shut that up, idiot! Some one might hear you."

  

 "Pooh! They'd just think I had asthma. Don't you

 think it's noble of me, Joe, to sacrifice my girlish

 reputation for home and country?"

  

 "What reputation?"

  

 86 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 "Come closer so I can slug you."

  

 Even the servants' quarter were luxurious. The

 dome was a sybarite's dream. The floor of it was

 gardened in real beauty save where Mrs, Keithley's

 mansion stood. Opposite it, across a little lake—

 certainly the only lake on the Moon—was the build-

 ing housing the circuits; it was disguised as a little

 Doric Grecian shrine.

  

 the dome itself was edge-lighted fifteen hours out

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 of each twenty-four, shutting out the black sky and

 the harsh stars. At "night" the lighting was gradually

 withdrawn.

  

 McGinty was a gardener and obviously enjoyed his

 work. Gail established contact with him, got out of

 him what little he knew. Joe left him alone save for

 contacts in character.

  

 There was a staff of over two hundred, having its

 own social hierarchy, from engineers for dome and

 equipment, Mrs. Keithley's private pilot, and so on

 down to gardeners' helpers. Joe and Gail were mid-

 way, being inside servants. Gail made herself popu-

 lar as the harmlessly flirtatious but always helpful

 and sympathetic wife of a meek and older husband.

 She had been a beauty parlor operator, so it seemed,

 before she "married" and had great skill in massaging

 aching backs and stiff necks, relieving headaches and

 inducing sleep. She was always ready to demonstrate.

  

 Her duties as a maid had not yet brought her into

 dose contact with their employer. Joe, however, had

 acquired the job of removing all potted plants to the

 "outdoors" during "night"; Mrs. Keitfaley, according

 to Mr. James, the butler, believed that plants should

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 be outdoors at "night." Joe was thus in a position to

 get outside the house when the dome was dark; he

 had already reached the point where the night guard

 at the Grecian temple would sometimes get Joe to

 "jigger" for him while the guard snatched a forbid-

 den cigarette.

  

 GULF               87

  

 McGinty had been able to supply one more impor-

 tant fact: in addition to the guard at the temple

 building, and the locks and armor plate of the build-

 ing itself, the arming circuit was booby-trapped. Even

 if it were inoperative as an arming circuit for the

 'Nova' bomb on Earth, it itself would blow up if

 tampered with. Gail and Joe discussed it in their

 room, Gail sitting on his lap like an affectionate wife,

 her lips close to his left ear. "Perhaps you could wreck

 it from the door, without exposing yourself."

  

 "I've got to be sure. There is certainly some way of

 switching that gimmick off. She has to provide for

 possible repairs or replacements."

  

 "Where would it be?"

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 "Just one place that matches the pattern of the rest

 of her planning. Right under her hand, along with

 die disarming switch and the trigger switch." He

 rubbed his other ear; it contained his short-range

 radio hook-up to McGinty and itched almost con-

 stantly.

  

 "Hmm—then there's just one thing to be done; I'll

 have to wring it out of her before I kill her."

  

 "Well see."

  

 Just before dinner the following "evening" she

 found him in their room. "It worked, Joe, it worked!"

  

 "What worked?"

  

 "She fell for the bait. She heard from her secretary

 about my skill as a masseuse; I -was ordered up for a

 demonstration this afternoon. Now I am under strict

 instructions to come to her tonight and rub her to

 sleep."

  

 "It's tonight,' then."

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 McGinty waited in his room, behind a locked door.

  

 Joe stalled in the back hall, spinning out endlessly a

  

 dull tale to Mr. James.

  

 A voice in his ear said, "She's in her room now."

 "—and that's how my brother got married to two

  

 88 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 women at once," Joe concluded. "Sheer bad luck. I

 better get these plants outside before the missus

 happens to ask about *em."

  

 'I suppose you had. Goodnight."

  

 "Goodnight, Mr. James." He picked up two of the

 pots and waddled out.

  

 He put them down outside and heard, "She says

 she's started to massage. She's spotted the radio

 switching unit; it's on the belt that the old gal keeps

 at her bedside table when she's not wearing it."

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 'Tell her to kill her and grab it."

  

 "She says she wants to make her tell how to

 unswiteh the booby-trap gimmick first."

  

 "Tell her not to delay.'

  

 Suddenly, inside his head, clear and sweet as a

 bell as if they were her own spoken tones, he heard

 her.—Joe, I can hear you. can you hear me?

  

 —yes, yes! Aloud he added, "Stand by the phones

 anyhow, Mac."

  

 —it wont he long. I have her in intense pain;

  

 she'll crack soon.

  

 —hurt her plenty! He began to run toward the

 temple building.—Gad, are you still shopping for a

 husband?

  

 —I've found him.

  

 —marry me and I'U beat you every Saturday night.

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 —the man who can beat me hasn't been born.

  

 —I'd like to try. He slowed down before he came

 near the guard's station. "Hi, Jim!"

  

 —it's a deal.

  

 "Well, if it taint Joey boy! Got a match?"

  

 "Here." He reached out a hand—then, as the

 guard fell. he eased him to the ground and made

 sure that he would stay out.—GaU! It's got to be

 now!

  

 The voice in his head came back in great conster-

 nation:—/oe/ She was too tough, she wouldn't crack.

 She's dead!

  

 GULF               89

  

 —good! get that belt, break the arming circuit,

 then see what else you find. I'm going to break in.

 He went toward the door of the temple.

  

 —it's disarmed, Joe. I could spot it; it has a time

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 set on it. I can't tell about the others, they aren't

 marked and they all look alike.

  

 He took from his pocket a small item provided by

 Baldwin's careful planning.—twist them all from where

 they are to the other way. You'll probably hit it.

  

 —oh, Joe, I hope so!

  

 He had placed the item against the lock; the metal

 around it turned red and now was melting away. An

 alarm clanged somewhere.

  

 Gail's voice came again in his head; there was

 urgency in it but no fear:—Joe! they're beating on

 the door. I'm trapped.

  

 —McCinty! be our witness! He went on:—I, Jo-

 seph, take thee. Gad, to be my lawfully wedded

 wife—

  

 He was answered in tranquil rhythm:—I, Gad,

 take thee, Joseph, to be my lawfully wedded hus-

 band—                ^

  

 —to have and to hold, he went on.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 —to have and to hold, my beloved!

  

 —for better, for worse—

  

 ——for better, for worse—Her voice in his head was

 singing . . . —till death do us part. I've got it open,

 darling, I am going in.

  

 —tut death do us part! They are breaking down

 the bedroom door, Joseph my dearest.

  

 —hang on! I'm almost through here.

  

 —they have broken it down, Joe. They are coming

 toward me. Good-bye my darling! I am very happy.

 Abruptly her "voice ' stopped.

  

 He was facing the box that housed the disarming

 circuit, alarms clanging in his ears; he took from his

 pocket another gadget and tried it.

  

 The blast that shattered the box caught him full in

 the chest.

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 90           Robert A. Heinldn

  

 *   *   *

 The letters on the metal marker read:

  

 TO THE MEMORY OF

 MR. AND MRS. JOSEPH GREENE

 WHO, NEAR THIS SPOT,

 DIED FOR ALL THEIR FELLOW MEN

  

 ELSEWHEN

  

 Excerpt from the Evening, STANDARD:

  

 SOUGHT SAVANT EVADES POLICE

 City Hall Scandal Looms

  

 Professor Arthur Frost, wanted for questioning in

 connection with the mysterious disappearance from his

 home of five of his students, escaped today from under

 the noses of a squad of police sent to arrest him. Police

 Sergeant Izowski claimed that Frost disappeared from

 tfie interior of the Black Maria under conditions which

 leave the police puzzled. District Attorney Kames la-

 beled Izowsld's story as preposterous and promised the

 fullest possible investigation.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 "But, Chief, I didn't leave him alone for a second!"

 "Nuts!" answered the Chief of Police. "You claim

 'f you put Frost in the Wagon, stopped with one foot

  

 t                       93

  

 94 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 on the tailboard to write in your notebook, and when

 you looked up he was gone. D'yuh expect the Grand

 Jury to believe that? D'yuh expect me to believe

 that?"

  

 "Honest, Chief," persisted Izowski, "I just stopped

 to write down—"

  

 "Write down what?"

  

 "Something he said. I said to him, 'Look, Doc,

 why don't you tell us where you hid 'em? You know

 we're bound to dig 'em up in time.' And he just gives

 me a funny faraway look, and says, Time—ah, time

 . . . yes, you could dig them up, in Time.' I thought

 it was an important admission and stops to write it

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 down. But I was standing in the only door he could

 use to get out of the Wagon. You know, I ain't little;

  

 I kinda fill up a door."

  

 "That's all you do," commented the Chief bitterly.

 "Izowski, you were either drunk, or crazy—or some-

 body got to you. The way you tell it, it's impossible!"

  

 Izowski was honest, nor was he drunk, nor crazy.

  

 Four days earlier Doctor Frost's class in specu-

 lative metaphysics had met as usual for their Fri-

 day evening seminar at the professor's home. Frost

 was saying, "And why not? Why shouldn't time be

 a fifth as well as a fourth dimension?"

  

 Howard Jenkins, hard-headed engineering stu-

 dent, answered, "No harm in speculating, I sup-

 pose, but the question is meaningless."

  

 "Why?" Frost's tones were deceptively mild.

  

 "No question is meaningless," interrupted Helen

 Fisher.

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "Oh, yeah? How high is up?"

  

 "Let him answer," meditated Frost.

  

 "I will," agreed Jenkins. "Human beings are

 constituted to perceive three spatial dimensions

 and one time dimension. Whether there are more

 of either is meaningless to us for there is no possi-

  

 ELSEWHEN            95

  

 ble way for us to know—ever. Such speculation is

 a harmless waste of time."

  

 "So?" said Frost. "Ever run across J. W. Dunne's

 theory of serial universe with serial time? And

 he's an engineer, like yourself. And don't forget

 Ouspensky. He regarded time as multi-dimensional."

  

 "Just a second, Professor," put in Robert Monroe.

 "I've seen their writings—but I still think Jenkins

 offered a legitimate objection. How can the question

 mean anything to us if we aren't built to perceive

 more dimensions? It's like in mathematics—you can

 invent any mathematics you like, on any set of axi-

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 oms, but unless it can be used to describe some sort

 of phenomena, it's just so much hot air."

  

 Fairly put," conceded Frost. "I'll give a fair an-

 swer. Scientific belief is based on observation, either

 one's own or that of a competent observer. I believe

 in a two-dimensional time because I have actually

 observed it."

  

 The clock ticked on for several seconds.

  

 Jenkins said, "But that is impossible. Professor.

 You aren't built to observe two time dimensions."

  

 "Easy, there ..." answered Frost. "I am built to

 perceive them one at a time—and so are you. I'll tell

 you about it, but before I do so, I must explain the

 theory of time I was forced to evolve in order to

 account for my experience. Most people think of

 time as a track that they run on from birth to death

 as inexorably as a train follows its rails—they feel

 instinctively that time follows a straight line, the past

 lying behind, the future lying in front. Now I have

 reason to believe—to know—that time is analogous

 to a surface rather than a line, and a rolling hilly

 surface at that. Think of this track we follow over the

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 surface of time as a winding road cut through hills.

 Every little way the road branches and the branches

 follow side canyons. At these branches the crucial

 decisions of your life take place. You can turn right

 or left into entirely different futures. Occasionally

  

 96 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 there is a switchback where one can scramble up or

 down a bank and skip over a few thousand or million

 years—if you don't have your eyes so fixed on the

 road that you miss the short cut.

  

 "Once in a while another road crosses yours. Nei-

 ther its past nor its future has any connection what-

 soever with the world we know. If you happened to

 take that turn you might find yourself on another

 planet in another space-time with nothing left of you

 or your world but the continuity of your ego.

  

 "Or, if you have the necessary intellectual strength

 and courage, you may leave the roads, or paths of

 high probability, and strike out over the hills of

 possible time, cutting through the roads as you come

 to them, following them for a little way, even follow-

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 ing them backwards, with the past ahead of you, and

 the future behind you. Or you might roam around

 the hilltops doing nothing but the extremely improb-

 able. I can not imagine what that would be like—

 perhaps a bit like Alice-through-the-Looking-Glass.

  

 "Now as to my evidence— When I was eighteen I

 had a decision to make. My father suffered financial

 reverses and I decided to quit college. Eventually I

 went into business for myself, and, to make a long

 story short, in nineteen-fifty-eight I was convicted of

 fraud and went to prison."

  

 Martha Ross interrupted. "Nineteen-fifty-eight, Doc-

 tor? You mean forty-eight?"

  

 "No, Miss Ross. I am speaking of events that did

 not take place on this time track."

  

 "Ohi" She looked blank, then muttered, "With the

 Lord all things are possible."

  

 "While in prison I had time to regret my mistakes.

 I realized that I had never been cut out for a busi-

 ness career, and I earnestly wished that I had stayed

 in school many years before. Prison has a peculiar

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 effect on a man's mind. I drifted further and further

 away from reality, and lived more and more in an

 introspective world of my own. One night, in a way

  

 ELSEWHEN            97

  

 not then clear to me, my ego left my cell, went back

 along the time track, and I awoke in my room at my

 college fraternity house.

  

 "This time I was wiser— Instead of leaving school,

 I found part-time work, graduated, continued as a

 graduate fellow, and eventually arrived where you

 now see me." He paused and glanced around.

  

 "Doctor," asked young Monroe, "can you give us

 any idea as to how the stunt was done?"

  

 'Yes, I can," Frost assented- "I worked on that

 problem for many years, trying to recapture the con-

 ditions. Recently I have succeeded and have made

 several excursions into possibility."

  

 Up to this time the third woman, Estelle Martin,

 had made no comment, although she had listened

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 with close attention. Now she leaned forward and

 spoke in an intense whisper.

  

 "Tell us how, Professor FrostI"

  

 "The means is simple. The key lies in convincing

 the subconscious mind that it can be done—"

  

 "Then the Berkeleian idealism is proved!"

  

 "In a way. Miss Martin. To one who believes in

 Bishop Berkeley's philosophy the infinite possibili-

 ties of two-dimensional time offer proof that the mind

 creates its own world, but a Spencerian determinist,

 such as good friend Howard Jenkins, would never

 leave the road of maximum probability. To him the

 world would be mechanistic and real. An orthodox

 free-will Christian, such as Miss Ross, would have

 her choice of several of the side roads, but would

 probably remain in a physical environment similar to

 Howard's.

  

 "I have perfected a technique which will enable

 others to travel about in the pattern of times as I

 have done. I have the apparatus ready and any who

 wish can try it. That is the real reason why these

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 Friday evening meetings have been held in my

 home—so that when the time came you all might try

  

 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 98

  

 it, if you wished." He got up and went to a cabinet at

  

 the end of die room.

 "You mean we could go tonight. Doctor?"

 "Yes, indeed. The process is one of hypnotism and

 suggestion. Neither is necessary, but that is the

 quickest way of teaching the sub-conscious to break

 out of its groove and go where it pleases. I use a

 revolving ball to tire the conscious mind into hypno-

 sis. During that period the subject listens to a re-

 cording which suggests the time-road to be followed,

 whereupon he does. It is as simple as that. Do any of

  

 you care to try it?"

  

 "Is it likely to be dangerous. Doctor?"

 He shrugged his shoulders. "The process isn't—

 just a deep sleep and a phonograph record- But the

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 world of the time track you visit will be as real as the

 world of this time track. You are all over twenty-one.

 I am not urging you, I am merely offering you the

  

 opportunity."

  

 Monroe stood up. "I'm going, Doctor."

 "Good! Sit here and use these earphones. Anyone

  

 else?"

  

 "Count me in." It was Helen Fisher.

  

 Estelle Martin joined them. Howard Jenkins went

 hastily to her side. "Are you going to try this business?"

  

 "Most certainly."

  

 He turned to Frost. "I'm in. Doc."

  

 Martha Ross finally joined the others. Frost seated

 them where they could wear the ear-phones and

  

 then asked,

  

 "You will remember the different types of things

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 you could do; branch off into a different world, skip

 over into the past or the future, or cut straight through

 the maze of probable tracks on a path of extreme

 improbability. I have records for all of those."

  

 Monroe was first again. "I'll take a right angle turn

  

 and a brand new world."

  

 Estelle did not hesitate. "I want to— How did you

  

 ELSEWHEN            99

  

 put it?—climb up a bank to a higher road somewhere

 in the future."

  

 "I'll try that, too." It was Jenkins.

  

 "Ill take the remote-possibilities track," put in

 Helen Fisher.

  

 "That takes care of everybody but Miss Ross,"

 commented the professor. "I'm afraid you will have

 to take a branch path in probability. Does that suit

 you?"

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 She nodded. "I was going to ask for it."

  

 "That's fine. All of these records contain the sug-

 gestion for you to return to this room two hours from

 now, figured along this time track. Put on your ear-

 phones. The records run thirty minutes. I'll start

 them and the ball together."

  

 He swung a glittering many-faceted sphere from a

 hook in the ceiling, started it whirling, and turned a

 small spotlight on it. Then he turned off the other

 lights, and started all the records by throwing a

 master switch. The scintillating ball twirled round

 and round, slowed and reversed and twirled back

 again. Doctor Frost turned Jlis eyes away to keep

 from being fascinated by it. Presently he slipped out

 into the hall for a smoke. Half an hour passed and

 there came the single note of a gong. He hurried

 back and switched on the light.

  

 Four of the five had disappeared.

  

 The remaining figure was Howard Jenkins, who

 opened his eyes and blinked at the light. "Well,

 Doctor, I guess it didn't work."

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 The Doctor raised his eyebrows. "No? Look around

 you."

  

 The younger man glanced about him. "Where are

 the others?"

  

 "Where? Anywhere," replied Frost, with a shrug,

 "and way when."

  

 Jenkins jerked off his ear-phones and jumped to

 his feet. "Doctor, what have you done to EsteUe?"

  

 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 100

  

 Frost gently disengaged a hand from his sleeve. "I

 haven't done anything, Howard. She's out on an-

 other time track."

  

 "But I meant to go with her!"

  

 "And I tried to send you with her."

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "But why didn't I go?"

  

 "I can't say—probably the suggestion wasn't strong

 enough to overcome your skepticism. But don't be

 alarmed, son—we expect her back in a couple of

  

 hours, you know."

  

 "Don't be alarmed!—that's easy to say. I didn't

 want her to try this damn fool stunt in the first place,

 but I knew I couldn't change her mind, so I wanted

 to go along to look out for her—she's so impractical!

 But see here, Doc—where are their bodies? I thought

 we would just stay here in the room in a trance."

  

 "Apparently you didn't understand me. These other

 time tracks are real, as real as this one we are in.

 Their whole beings have gone off on other tracks, as

 if they had turned down a side street."

  

 "But that's impossible—it contradicts the law of

 the conservation of energy!"

  

 "You must recognize a fact when you see one—

 they are gone. Besides, it doesn't contradict the law;

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 it simply extends it to include the total universe."

  

 Jenkins rubbed a hand over his face. "I suppose

 so. But in that case, anything can happen to her—

 she could even be kiUed out there. And I can't do a

 damn thing about it. Oh, I wish we had never seen

  

 this damned seminar!"

  

 The professor placed an arm around his shoulders.

 "Since you can't help her, why not calm down? Be-

 sides, you have no reason to believe that she is in

 any danger. Why borrow trouble? Let's go out to the

 kitchen and open a bottle of beer while we wait for

 them." He gently urged him toward the door.

  

 After a couple of beers and a few cigarettes, Jenkins

 was somewhat calmed down. The professor made

 conversation.

  

 ELSEWHEN            101

  

  

  

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "How did you happen to sign up for this course,

 Howard?"

  

 "It was the only course I could take with Estelle."

  

 "I thought so. I let you take it for reasons of my

 own. I knew you weren't interested in speculative

 philosophy, but I thought that your hard-headed ma-

 terialism would hold down some of the loose think-

 ing that is likely to go on in such a class. You've been

 a help to me. Take Helen Fisher for example. She is

 prone to reason brilliantly from insufficient data. You

 help to keep her down to earth."

  

 "To be frank. Doctor Frost, I could never see the

 need for all this high-falutin discussion. I like facts."

  

 "But you engineers are as bad as metaphysicians—

 you ignore any fact that you can't weigh in scales. If

 you can't bite it, it's not real. You believe in a

 mechanistic, deterministic universe, and ignore the

 facts of human consciousness, human will, and hu-

 man freedom of choice—facts that you have directly

 experienced."

  

 'But those things can be explained in terms of

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 reflexes."

  

 The professor spread his Rands. "You sound just

 like Martha Ross—she can explain anything in terms

 of Bible-belt fundamentalism. Why don't both of you

 admit that there a few things you don't understand?"

 He paused and cocked his head. "Did you hear

 something?"

  

 "I think I did."

  

 "Let's check. It's early, but perhaps one of them is

 back."

  

 They hurried to the study, where they were con-

 fronted by an incredible and awe-inspiring sight.

  

 Floating in the air near the fireplace was a figure

 robed in white and shining with a soft mother-of-

 pearl radiance. While they stood hesitant at the door,

 the figure turned its face to them and they saw that it

 had the face of Martha Ross, cleansed and purified to

 an unhuman majesty. Then it spoke.

  

 102 Robert A. Heinlein

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 "Peace be unto you, my brothers." A wave of

 peace and lovingldndness flowed over them like a

 mother's blessing. The figure approached them, and

 they saw, curving from its shoulders, the long, white,

 sweeping wings of a classical angel. Frost cursed

 under his breath in a dispassionate monotone.

  

 "Do not be afraid, I have come back, as you asked

 me to. To explain and to help you."

  

 The Doctor found his voice. "Are you Martha Ross?"

  

 "I answer to that name."

  

 "What happened after you put on the ear-phones?"

  

 "Nothing. I slept for a while. When I woke, I went

 home."

  

 "Nothing else? How do you explain your appear-

 ance?"

  

 "My appearance is what you earthly children ex-

 pect of the Lord's Redeemed. In the course of time I

 served as a missionary in South America. There it

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 was required of me that I give up my mortal me in

 the service of the Lord. And so I entered the Eternal

 City."

  

 "You went to Heaven?"

  

 "These many eons I have sat at the foot of the

 Golden Throne and sung hosannas to His name."

  

 Jenkins interrupted them. "Tell me, Martha—or

 Saint Martha—Where is Estelle? Have you seen her?"

  

 The figure turned slowly and faced him. "Fear

 not."

  

 "But tell me where she is!"

  

 "It is not needful."

  

 "That's no help," he answered bitterly.

  

 "I will help you. Listen to me; Love the Lord thy

 God with all thy heart, and Love thy neighbor as

 thyself. That is all you need to know."

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 Howard remained silent, at a loss for an answer,

 but unsatisfied. Presently the figure spoke again. "I

 must go. God's blessing on you." It flickered and was

 gone.

  

 ELSEWHEN            103

  

 The professor touched the young man's arm. "Let's

 get some fresh air." He led Jenkins, mute and unre-

 sisting, out into the garden. They walked for some

 minutes in silence. Finally Howard asked a question,

  

 "Did we see an angel in there?"

  

 "I think so, Howard."

  

 "But that's insane!"

  

 *There are millions of people who wouldn't think

 so—unusual certainly, but not insane."

  

 "But it's contrary to all modem beliefs—Heaven—

 Hell—a personal God—Resurrection. Everything I've

 believed in must be wrong, or I've gone screwy."

  

 "Not necessarily—not even probably. I doubt very

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 much if you will ever see Heaven or Hell. YouTI

 follow a time track in accordance with your nature."

  

 "But she seemed real."

  

 "She was real. I suspect that the conventional

 hereafter is real to any one who believes in it whole-

 heartedly, as Martha evidently did, but I expect you

 to follow a pattern in accordance with die beliefs of

 an agnostic—except in one respect; when you die,

 you won't die all over, no matter how intensely you

 may claim to expect to. It is an emotional impossibil-

 ity for any man to believe in his own death. That sort

 of self-annihilation can't be done. Youll have a here-

 after, but it will be one appropriate to a materialist."

  

 But Howard was not listening. He pulled at his

 under lip and frowned. "Say, doc, why wouldn't

 Martha tell me what happened to Estelle? That was a

 dirty trick."

  

 "I doubt if she knew, my boy. Martha followed a

 time track only slightly different from that we are in;

  

 Estelle chose to explore one far in the past. or in the

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 distant future. For all practical purposes, each is

 non-existent to the other."

  

 They heard a call from the house, a clear contralto

 voice, "Doctorl Doctor Frost!"

  

 Jenkins whirled around. "That's Estellel" They ran

  

 104 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 back into the house, the Doctor endeavoring man-

 fully to keep up.

  

 But it was not Estelle. Standing in the hallway was

 Helen Fisher, her sweater torn and dirty, her stock-

 ings missing, and a barely-healed scar puckering one

 cheek. Frost stopped and surveyed her. "Are you all

 right, child?" he demanded.

  

 She grinned boyishly. "I'm okay. You should see

 the other guy."

  

 Tell us about it."

  

 "In a minute. How about a cup of coffee for the

 prodigal? And I wouldn't turn up my nose at scram-

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 bled eggs and some—lots—of toast. Meals are in-

 clined to be irregular where I've been."

  

 "Yes, indeed. Right away." answered Frost, "but

 where have you been?"

  

 "Let a gal eat, please," she begged. "I won't hold

 out on you. What is Howard looking so sour about?"

  

 The professor whispered an explanation. She gave

 Jenkins a compassionate glance. "Oh, she hasn't? I

 thought I'd be the last man in; I was away so long.

 What day is this?"

  

 Frost glanced at his wrist watch. "You're right on

 time; it's just eleven o'clock."

  

 "The hell you say! Oh, excuse me. Doctor. *Cur-

 iouser and curiouser, said Alice.' All in a couple of

 hours. Just for the record, I was gone several weeks

 at least.'*

  

 When her third cup of coffee had washed down

 the last of the toast, she began:

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "When I woke up I was falling upstairs—through a

 nightmare, several nightmares. Don't ask me to de-

 scribe that—nobody could. That went on for a week,

 maybe, then things started to come into focus. I

 don't know in just what order things happened, but

 when I first started to notice clearly I was standing in

 a little barren valley. It was cold, and the air was

 thin and acrid. It burned my throat. There were two

  

 ELSEWHEN            105

  

 suns in the sky, one big and reddish, the other

 smaller and too bright to look at."

  

 'Two suns!" exclaimed Howard. "That's not pos-

 sible—binary stars don't have planets."

  

 She looked at him. "Have it your own way—I was

 there. Just as I was taking this all in, something

 whizzed overhead and I ducked. That was the last I

 saw of that place.

  

 "I slowed down next back on earth—at least it

 looked like it—and in a city. It was a big and compli-

 cated city. I was in trafficway with a lot of fast-

 moving traffic. I stepped out and tried to flag one of

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 the vehicles—a long crawling caterpillar thing with

 about fifty wheels—when I caught sight of what was

 driving it and dodged back in a hurry. It wasn't a

 man and it wasn't an animal either—not one I've

 ever seen or heard of. It wasn't a bird, or a fish, nor

 an insect. The god that thought up the inhabitants of

 that city doesn't deserve worship. I don't know what

 they were, but they crawled and they crept and they

 stank. Ugh!"

  

 "I slunk around holes in ithat place," she contin-

 ued, "for a couple of weeks before I recovered the

 trick of jumping the time track. I was desperate, for I

 thought that the suggestion to return to now hadn't

 worked. I couldn't find much to eat and I was light-

 headed part of the time. I drank out of what I sus-

 pect was their drainage system, but there was nobody

 to ask and I didn't want to know. I was thirsty."

  

 "Did you see any human beings?"

  

 "I'm not sure. I saw some shapes that might have

 been men squatting in a circle down in the tunnels

 under the city, but something frightened them, and

 they scurried away before I could get close enough

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 to look."

  

  

  

  

 "What else happened there?"

  

 "Nothing. I found the trick again that same night

 and got away from there as fast as I could-1 am afraid

  

 106 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 I lost the scientific spirit. Professor—I didn't care

 how the other half lived.

  

 'This time I had better luck. I was on earth again,

 but in pleasant rolling hills, like the Blue Ridge

 Mountains. It was summer, and very lovely. I found

 a little stream and took off my clothes and bathed. It

 was wonderful. After I had found some ripe berries,

 I lay down in the sun and went to sleep.

  

 "I woke wide awake with a start. Someone was

 bending over me. It was a man, but no beauty. He

 was a Neanderthal. I should have run, but I tried to

 grab my clothes first, so he grabbed me. I was led

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 back into camp, a Sabine woman, with my new spring

 sports outfit tucked fetchingly under one arm.

  

 "I wasn't so bad off. It was the Old Man who had

 found me, and he seemed to regard me as a strange

 pet, about on a par with the dogs that snarled around

 the bone heap, rather than as a member of his harem.

 I fed well enough, if you aren't fussy—I wasn't nissy

 after living in the bowels of that awful city.

  

 "The Neanderthal isn't a bad fellow at heart, rather

 good-natured, although inclined to play rough. That's

 how I got this." She fingered the scar on her cheek,

 "I had about decided to stay a while and study them,

 when one day I made a mistake. It was a chilly

 morning, and I put on my clothes for the first time

 since I had arrived. One of the young bucks saw me,

 and I guess it aroused his romantic nature. The Old

 Man was away at the time and there was no one to

 stop him.

  

 ' He grabbed me before I knew what was happen-

 ing and tried to show his affection. Have you ever

 been nuzzled by a cave man, Howard? They have

 halitosis, not to mention B.O. I was too startled to

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 concentrate on the time trick, or else I would have

 slipped right out into space-time and left him clutch-

 ing air."

  

 Doctor Frost was aghast. "Dear God, child! What

 did you do?"

  

 ELSEWHEN            107

  

 "I finally showed him a jiu jitsu trick I learned in

 Phys. Ed. II, then I ran like hell and skinned up a

 tree. I counted up to a hundred and tried to be calm.

 Pretty soon I was shooting upstairs in a nightmare

 again and very happy to be doing it."

  

 "Then you came back here?"

  

 "Not by a whole lot—worse luck! I landed in this

 present all right, and apparently along this time di-

 mension, but there was plenty that was wrong about

 it- I was standing on the south side of Forty-second

 street in New York. I knew where I was for the first

 thing I noticed was the big lighted letters that chase

 around the TIMES building and spell out news flashes.

 It was running backwards. I was trying to figure out

 •DETROIT BEAT TO HITS NINE GET YANKEES'

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 when I saw two cops close to me running as hard as

 they could—backwards, away from me." Doctor Frost

 smothered an ejaculation. "What did you say?"

  

 "Reversed entropy—you entered the track back-

 wards—your time arrow was pointing backwards."

  

 "I figured that out, when I had time to think about

 it. Just then I was too busy. I was in a clearing in the

 crowd, but the ring of people-was closing in on me,

 all running backwards. The cops'disappeared in the

 crowd, and the crowd ran right up to me, stopped,

 and started to scream. Just as that happened, the

 traffic lights changed, cars charged out from both

 directions, driving backwards. It was too much for

 little Helen. I fainted.

  

 "Following that I seemed to slant through a lot of

 places—"

  

 "Just a second," Howard interrupted, "just what

 happened before that? I thought I savvied entropy,

 but that got me licked."

  

 "Well," explained Frost, "the easiest way to ex-

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 plain it is to say that she was travelling backwards in

 time. Her future was their past, and vice versa. I'm

 glad she got out in a hurry. I'm not sure that human

 metabolism can be maintained in such conditions."

  

 108 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 "Hmm— Go ahead, Helen."

  

 "This slanting through the axes would have been

 startling, if I hadn't been emotionally exhausted. I

 sat back and watched it, like a movie. I think Salva-

 dor Dali wrote the script. I saw landscapes heave

 and shift like a stormy sea. People melted into

 plants—I think my own body changed at times, but I

 can't be sure. Once I found myself in a place that

 was all insides, instead of outsides. Some of the

 things we'll skip—I don't believe them myself.

  

 "Then I slowed down in a place that must have

 had an extra spatial dimension. Everything looked

 three dimensional to me, but they changed their

 shapes when I thought about them. I found I could

 look inside solid objects simply by wanting to. When

 I tired of prying into the intimate secrets of rocks

 and plants, I took a look at myself, and it worked Just

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 as well. I know more about anatomy and physiology

 now than an M.D. It's fun to watch your heart beat—

 kind o'cute.

  

 "But my appendix was swollen and inflamed. I

 found I could reach in and touch it—it was tender.

 I've had trouble with it so I decided to perform an

 emergency operation, I nipped it off with my nails.

 It didn't hurt at all, bled a couple of drops and closed

 right up."

  

 "Good Heavens, child! You might have gotten peri-

 tonitis and died."

  

 "I don't think so. I believe that ultra-violet was

 pouring all through me and killing the bugs. I had a

 fever for a while, but I think what caused it was a

 bad case of internal sunburn.

  

 "I forgot to mention that I couldn't walk around in

 this place, for I couldn't seem to touch anything but

 myself. I sliced right through anything I tried to get

 a purchase on. Pretty soon I quit trying and relaxed.

 It was comfortable and I went into a warm happy

 dope, like a hibernating bear.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 "After a long time—a long, long time, I went

  

 ELSEWHEN            109

  

 sound asleep and came to in your big easy-chair.

 That's all."

  

 Helen answered Howard's anxious inquiries by

 telling him that she had seen nothing of Estelle.

 "But why don't you calm down and wait? She isn't

 really overdue."

  

 They were interrupted by the opening of the door

 from the hallway. A short wiry figure in a hooded

 brown tunic and tight brown breeches strode into

 the room.

  

 "Where's Doctor Frost? Oh—Doctor, I need helpl"

  

 It was Monroe, but changed almost beyond recog-

 nition. He had been short and slender before, but

 was now barely five feet tall, and stocky, with power-

 fill shoulder muscles. The brown costume with its

 peaked hood, or helmet, gave him a strong resem-

 blance to the popular notion of gnome.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 Frost hurried to hin. "What is it, Robert? How can

 I help?"

  

 "This first." Monroe hunched forward for inspec-

 tion of his left upper arm. The fabric was tattered

 and charred, exposing an ugly^bum. "He just grazed

 me, but it had better be fixed. If I am to save the

 arm."

  

 Frost examined it without touching it. "We must

 rush you to a hospital."

  

 "No time. I've got to get back. They need me—

 and the help I can bring."

  

 The Doctor shook his head. "You've got to have

 treatment. Bob. Even if there is strong need for you

 to go back wherever you have been, you are in a

 different time track now. Time lost here isn't neces-

 sarily lost there."

  

 Monroe cut him short. "I think this world and my

 world have connected time rates. I must hurry."

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 Helen Fisher placed herself between them. "Let

 me see that arm. Bob. Hm—pretty nasty, but I think

 I can fix it. Professor, put a kettle on the fire with

  

 110 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 about a cup of water in it. As soon as it boils, chuck

 in a handful of tea leaves."

  

 She rummaged through the kitchen cutlery drawer,

 found a pair of shears, and did a neat job of cutting

 away the sleeve and cleaning the burned flesh for

 dressing. Monroe talked as she worked.

  

 "Howard, I want you to do me a favor. Get a

 pencil and paper and take down a list. I want a flock

 of things to take back—all of them things that you

 can pick up at the fraternity house. You'll have to go

 for me—I'd be thrown out with my present appear-

 ance— What's the matter? Don't you want to?'

  

 Helen hurriedly explained Howard's preoccupa-

 tion. He listened sympathetically. "Oh! Say, that's

 tough lines, old man." His brow wrinkled- "But look—

 You can't do Estelle any good by waiting here, and I

 really do need your help for the next half hour. Will

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 you do it?"

  

 Jenkins reluctantly agreed. Monroe continued,

  

 "Fine! I do appreciate it. Co to my room first and

 gather up my reference books on math—also my

 slide rule. You'll find an India-paper radio manuaf,

 too. I want that. And I want your twenty-inch log-log

 duplex slide rule, as well. You can have my Rabelais

 and the DroU Stories. I want your Marks' Mechani-

 cal Engineers Handbook, and any other technical

 reference books that you have and I haven't. Take

 anything you like in exchange.

  

 "Then go up to Stinky Beanfield's room, and get

 his Military Engineers Handbook, his Chemical

 Warfare, and his texts on ballistics and ordnance.

 Yes, and Miller's Chemistry of Explosives, if he has

 one. If not, pick up one from some other of the

 R.O.T.C. boys; it's important." Helen was deftly

 applying a poultice to his arm. He winced as the tea

 leaves, still warm, touched his seared flesh, but went

 ahead.

  

 "Stinky keeps his service automatic in his upper

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 bureau drawer. Swipe it, or talk him out of it. Bring

  

 ELSEWHEN            111

  

 as much ammunition as you can find—I'll write out a

 bill of sale for my car for you to leave for him. Now

 get going. I'll tell Doc all about it, and he can tell

 you later. Here. Take my car." He fumbled at his

 thigh, then looked annoyed. "Cripes! I don't have

 my keys."

  

 Helen came to the rescue. "Take mine- The keys

 are in my bag on the hall table."

  

 Howard got up. "OK, I'll do my damndest. If I get

 flung in the can, bring me cigarettes." He went out.

  

 Helen put the finishing touches on the bandages.

 'There! I think that will do. How does it feel?"

  

 He flexed his arm cautiously. "Okay. It's a neat

 job. kid. It takes the sting out,"

  

 "I believe it will heal if you keep tannin solution

 on it. Can you get tea leaves where you are going?"

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "Yes, and tannic acid, too. I'll be all right. Now

 you deserve an explanation. Professor, do you have a

 cigaret on you? I could use some of that cofiee, too."

  

 "Surely, Robert." Frost hastened to serve him.

  

 Monroe accepted a light and began,

  

 "It's all pretty cock-eyed. When I came out of the

 sleep, I found myself, dressed as I am now and

 looking as I now look, marching down a long, deep

 fosse. I was one of a column of threes in a military

 detachment. The odd part about it is that I felt

 perfectly natural. I knew where I was and why I was

 there—and who I was. I don't mean Robert Monroe;

  

 my name over there is Igor." Monroe pronounced

 the gutteral deep in his throat and trilled the "r." "I

 hadn't forgotten Monroe; it was more as if I had

 suddenly remembered him. I had one identity and

 two pasts. It was something like waking up from a

 clearly remembered dream, only the dream was per-

 fectly real. I knew Monroe was real, just as I knew

 Igor was real.

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "My world is much like earth; a bit smaller, but

 much the same surface gravity. Men like myself are

 the dominant race, and we are about as civilized as

  

 112 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 you folks, but our culture has followed a difficult

 course- We live underground about half the time.

 Our homes are there and a lot of our industry. You

 see it's warm underground in our world, and not

 entirely dark. There is a mild radioactivity; it doesn't

 harm us.

  

 "Nevertheless we are a surface-evolved race, and

 can't be healthy nor happy if we stay underground all

 the time. Now there is a war on and we've been

 driven underground for eight or nine months. The

 war is going against us. As it stands now, we have

 lost control of the surface and my race is being

 reduced to the status of hunted vermin,

  

 "You see, we aren't fighting human beings. I don't

 know just what it is we are fighting—maybe beings

 from outer space. We don't know. They attacked us

 several places at once from great flying rings the like

 of which we had never seen. They burned us down

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 without warning. Many of us escaped underground

 where they haven't followed us. They don't operate

 at night either—seem to need sunlight to be active.

 So it's a stalemate—or was until they started gassing

 our tunnels.

  

 "We've never captured one and consequently don't

 know what makes them tick. We examined a ring

 that crashed, but didn't leam much. There was noth-

 ing inside that even vaguely resembled animal life,

 nor was there anything to support animal life. I mean

 there were no food supplies, nor sanitary arrange-

 ments. Opinion is divided between the idea that the

 one we examined was remotely controlled and the

 idea that the enemy are some sort of non-protoplasmic

 intelligence, perhaps force patterns, or something

 equally odd.

  

 "Our principal weapon is a beam which creates a

 stasis in the ether, and freezes 'em solid. Or rather it

 should, but it will destroy all life and prevent molar

 action—but the rings are simply put temporarily out

 of control. Unless we can keep a beam on a ring right

  

 ELSEWHEN            113

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 to the moment it crashes, it recovers and gets away.

 Then its pals come and bum out our position.

  

 "We've had better luck with mining their surface

 camps, and blowing them up at night. We're accom-

 plished sappers, of course. But we need better weap-

 ons. That's what I sent Howard after. I've got two

 ideas. If the enemy are simply some sort of intelli-

 gent force patterns, or something like that, radio

 may be the answer. We might be able to fill up the

 ether with static and jam them right out of existence.

 If they are too tough for that, perhaps some good

 old-fashioned anti-aircraft fire might make them say

 'Uncle.' In any case there is a lot of technology here

 that we don't have, and which may have the answer.

 I wish I had time to pass on some of our stuff in

 return for what I'm taking with me."

  

 "You are determined to go back, Robert?"

  

 "Certainly. It's where I belong. I've no family

 here. I don t know how to make you see it. Doc, but

 those are my people—that is my world. I suppose if

 conditions were reversed, I'd feel differently.'

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "I see," said Helen, "you're fighting for the wife

 and kids."                 "

  

 He turned a weary face toward her. "Not exactly.

 I'm a bachelor over there, but I do have a family to

 think about; my sister is in command of the attack

 unit I'm in. Oh, yes, the women are in it—they're

 little and tough, like you, Helen."

  

 She touched his arm lightly. "How did you pick up

 this?"

  

 "That bum? You remember we were on the march.

 We were retreating down that ditch from a surface

 raid. I thought we had made good our escape when

 all of a sudden a ring swooped down on us. Most of

 the detachment scattered, but I'm a junior techni-

 cian armed with the stasis ray. I tried to get my

 equipment unlimbered to fight back, but I was burned

 down before I could finish. Luckily it barely grazed

 me. Several of the others were fried. I don't know

  

 114 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 yet whether or not Sis got hers. That's one of the

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 reasons why I'm in a hurry.

  

 "One of the other techs who wasn't hit got his gear

 set up and covered our retreat. I was dragged under-

 ground and taken to a dressing station. The medicos

 were about to work on me when I passed out and

 came to in the Professor's study."

  

 The doorbell rang and the Professor got up to

 answer it. Helen and Robert followed him. It was

 Howard, bearing spoils.

  

 "Did you get everything?" Robert asked anxiously.

  

 "I think so. Stinky was in, but I managed to bor-

 row his books. The gun was harder, but I telephoned

 a friend of mine and had him call back and ask for

 Stinky. While he was out of the room, I lifted it.

 Now I'm a criminal—government property, too."

  

 "You're a pal, Howard. After you hear the explana-

 tion, youll agree that it was worth doing. Won't he,

 Helen?"

  

 "Absolutely!"

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "Well, I hope you're right," he answered dubi-

 ously. "I brought along something else, just in case.

 Here it is." He handed Robert a book.

  

 "Aerodynamics and Principles of Aircraft Con-

 struction," Robert read aloud. "My God, yes! Thanks,

 Howard."

  

 In a few minutes, Monroe had his belongings as-

 sembled and fastened to his person. He had an-

 nounced that he was ready when the Professor checked

 him:

  

 "One moment, Robert. How do you know that

 these books will go with you?"

  

 "Why not? That's why I'm fastening them to me."

  

 "Did your earthly clothing go through the first

 time?"

  

 "Noo—" His brow furrowed. "Good grief. Doc,

 what can I do? I couldn't possibly memorize what I

 need to know."

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "I don't know. Son. Let's think about it a bit." He

  

 ELSEWHEN            115

  

 broke off and stared at the ceiling. Helen touched his

 hand.

  

 "Perhaps I can help. Professor."

  

 "In what way, Helen?"

  

 "Apparently I don't metamorphize when I change

 time tracks, I had the same clothes with me every-

 where I went. Why couldn't I ferry this stuff over for

 Bob?"

  

 "Hm, perhaps you could."

  

 "No, I couldn't let you do that," interposed Mon-

 roe. "You might get killed or badly hurt.'

 ^     "I'll chance it.'

  

 |     "I've got an idea," put in Jenkins. "Couldn't Doc-

 t.   tor Frost set his instructions so that Helen would go

 over and come right back? How about it. Doc?"

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "Mmm, yes, perhaps." But Helen held up a hand.

  

 "No good. The boodle might come bouncing back

 with me. I'll go over without any return instructions.

 I like the sound of this world of Bob's anyway. I may

 stay there. Cut out the chivalry. Bob. One of the

 i'  things I liked about your world was the notion of

 }   treating men and women ali^e. Get unstuck from

 that stuff and start hanging it on me. I'm going."

  

 She looked like a Christmas tree when the dozen-

 odd books had been tied to various parts of her solid

 little figure, the automatic pistol strapped on, and

 the two slide rules, one long and one short, stuck in

 the pistol belt,

  

 Howard fondled the large slide rule before he

 fastened it on. "Take good care of this slipstick,

 Bob," he said, "I gave up smoking for six months to

 pay for it."

  

 Frost seated the two side by side on the sofa in the

 study. Helen slipped a hand into Bob's. When the

 shining ball had been made to spin. Frost motioned

 for Jenkins to leave, closed the door after him and

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 switched out the light. Then he started repeating

 hypnotic suggestions in a monotone.

  

 Ten minutes later he felt a slight swish of air and

  

 116 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 ceased. He snapped the light switch. The sofa was

 empty, even of books.

  

 Frost and Jenkins kept an uneasy vigil while await-

 ing Estelle's return. Jenkins wandered nervously

 around the study, examining objects that didn't in-

 terest him and smoking countless cigarets. The Pro-

 fessor sat quietly in his easy chair, simulating a

 freedom from anxiety that he did not feel. They

 conversed in desultory fashion.

  

 "One thing I don't see," observed Jenkins, "is why

 in the world Helen could go a dozen places and not

 change, and Bob goes just one place and comes back

 almost unrecognizable—shorter, heavier, decked out

 in outlandish clothes. What happened to his ordinary

 clothes anyhow? How do you explain those things,

 Professor?"

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "Eh? I don't explain them—I merely observe them.

 I think perhaps he changed, while Helen didn't,

 because Helen was just a visitor to the places she

 went to, whereas Monroe belonged over there—as

 witness he fitted into the pattern of that world. Per-

 haps the Great Architect intended for him to cross

 over."

  

 "Huh? Good heavens, Doctor, surely you don't

 believe in divine predestination!"

  

 "Perhaps not in those terms. But, Howard, you

 mechanistic skeptics make me tired. Your naive abil-

 ity to believe that things 'jest growed' approaches

 childishness. According a you a fortuitous accident of

 entropy produced Beethoven's Ninth Symphony."

  

 "I think that's unfair. Doctor. You certainly don't

 expect a man to believe in things that run contrary to

 his good sense without offering him any reasonable

 explanation."

  

 Frost snorted. "I certainly do—if he has observed

 it with his own eyes and ears, or gets it from a source

 known to be credible. A fact doesn't have to be

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 understood to be true. Sure, any reasonable mind

  

 ELSEWHEN            117

  

 wants explanations, but it's silly to reject facts that

 don't fit your philosophy.

  

 "Now these events tonight, which you are so anx-

 ious to rationalize in orthodox terms, famish a clue

 to a lot of things that scientists have been rejecting

 because they couldn't explain them. Have you ever

 heard the tale of the man who walked around the

 horses? No? Around 1810 Benjamin Bathurst, British

 Ambassador to Austria, arrived in his carriage at an

 inn in Perleberg, Germany. He had his valet and

 secretary with him. They drove into the lighted court-

 yard of the inn. Bathurst got out, and, in the pres-

 ence of bystanders and his two attaches, walked around

 the horses. He hasn't been seen since."

  

 "What happened?"

  

 "Nobody knows. I think he was preoccupied and

 inadvertently wandered into another time track. But

 there are literally hundreds of similar cases, way too

 many to laugh off. The two-time-dimensions theory

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 accounts for most of them. But I suspect that there

 are other as-yet-undreamed-of natural principles op-

 erating in some of the rejected cases."

  

 Howard stopped pacing and pulled at his lower

 hp. "Maybe so. Doctor. I'm too upset to think. Look

 here—it's one o'clock. Oughtn't she to be back by

 now?"

  

 "Fm afraid so. Son."

  

 "You mean she's not coming back."

  

 "It doesn't look like it."

  

 The younger man gave a broken cry and collapsed

 on the sofa. His shoulders heaved. Presently he calmed

 down a little. Frost saw his lips move and suspected

 that he was praying. Then he showed a drawn face to

 the Doctor.

  

 "Isn't there anything we can do?"

  

 "That's hard to answer, Howard. We don't know

 where she's gone; all we do know is that she left here

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 under hypnotic suggestion to cross over into some

 other loop of the past or future."

  

 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 118

  

 "Can't we go after her the same way and trace

  

 her?"

  

 "I don't know. I haven't had any experience with

 such a job."

  

 "I've got to do something or I'll go nuts."

  

 "Take it easy, son. Let me think about it." He

 smoked in silence while Howard controlled an im-

 pulse to scream, break furniture, anything!

  

 Frost knocked the ash off his cigar and placed it

 carefully in a tray. "I can think of one chance. It's a

 remote one."

  

 "Anything!"

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "I'm going to listen to the record that Estelle

 heard, and cross over. I'll do it wide awake, while

 concentrating on her. Perhaps I can establish some

 rapport, some extra-sensory connection, that will serve

 to guide me to her." Frost went immediately about

 his preparations as he spoke. "I want you to remain

 in the room when I go so that you will really believe

 that it can be done."

  

 In silence Howard watched him don the head-

 phones. The Professor stood still, eyes closed. He

 remained so for nearly fifteen minutes, then took a

 short step forward. The ear-phones clattered to the

 floor. He was gone.

  

 Frost felt himself drift off into the timeless limbo

 which precedes transition. He noticed again that it

 was exactly like the floating sensation that ushers in

 normal sleep, and wondered idly, for the hundredth

 time, whether or not the dreams of sleep were real

 experiences. He was inclined to think they were.

 Then he recalled his mission with a guilty start, and

 concentrated hard on Estelle.

  

 He was walking along a road, white in the sun-

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 shine. Before him were the gates of a city. The

 gateman stared at his odd attire, but let him pass.

 He hurried down the broad tree-lined avenue which

 (he knew) led from the space port to Capitol Hill. He

 turned aside into the Way of me Gods and continued

  

 ELSEWHEN            119

  

 until he reached the Grove of the Priestesses. There

 he found the house which he sought, its marble walls

 pink in the sun, its fountains tinkling in the morning

 breeze. He turned in.

  

 The ancient janitor, nodding in the sun, admitted

 him to the house. The slender maidservant, barely

 nubile, ushered him into the inner chamber, where

 her mistress raised herself on one elbow and re-

 garded her visitor through languid eyes. Frost ad-

 dressed her,

  

 "It is time to return, Estelle."

  

 Her eyesbrows showed her surprise. "You speak a

 strange and barbarous tongue, old man, and yet,

 here is a mystery, for I know it. What do you wish of

 me?"

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 Frost spoke impatiently. "Estelle, I say it is time

 to return!"

  

 "Return? What idle talk is this? Return where?

 And my name is Star-Light, not Ess Tell. Who are

 you, and from where do you come?" She searched

 his face, then pointed a slender finger at him. "I

 know you nowl You are out of my dreams. You were

 a Master and instructed me in the ancient wisdom."

  

 "Estelle, do you remember a youth in those

 dreams?"

  

 "That odd name again! Yes, there was a youth. He

 was sweet—sweet and straight and tall like pine on

 the mountain. I have dreamed of him often," She

 swung about with a flash of long white limbs. "What

 of this youth?"

  

 "He waits for you. It is time to return."

  

 "Return!—There is no return to the place of

 dreams!"

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "I can lead you there."

  

 "What blasphemy is this? Are you a priest, that

 you should practice magic? Why should a sacred

 courtesan go to the place of dreams?"

  

 "There is no magic in it. He is heartsick at your

 loss. I will lead you back to him."

  

 120 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 She hesitated, doubt in her eyes, then she replied,

 "Suppose you could; why should I leave my honor-

 able sacred station for the cold nothingness of that

  

 dream?"

  

 He answered her gently, "What does your heart

 tell you, Estelle?"

  

 She stared at him, eyes wide, and seemed about to

 burst into tears. Then she flung herself across the

 couch, and showed him her back. A muffled voice

  

 answered him,

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "Be off with you! There is no youth, except in my

 dreams. I'll seek him there!"

  

 She made no further reply to his importunities.

 Presently he ceased trying and left with a heavy

 heart.

  

 Howard seized him by the arm as he returned.

 "Well, Professor? Well? Did you find her?"

  

 Frost dropped wearily into his chair. "Yes, I found

 her."

  

 "Was she all right? Why didn't she come back with

 you?"

  

 "She was perfectly well, but I couldn't persuade

 her to return."

  

 Howard looked as if he had been slapped across

 the mouth. "Didn't you tell her I wanted her to

 come back?"

  

 "I did, but she didn't believe me."

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 "Not believe you?"

  

 "You see she's forgotten most of this life, Howard.

 She thinks you are simply a dream."

  

 "But that's not possible!"

  

 Frost looked more weary than ever. "Don't you

 think it is about time you stopped using that term,

 son?"

  

 Instead of replying he answered, "Doctor, you

 must take me to her!" Frost looked dubious.

  

 "Can't you do it?"

  

 ELSEWHEN            121

  

 "Perhaps I could, if you have gotten over your

 disbelief, but still—"

  

 "Disbelief^—I've been forced to believe. Let's get

 busy."

  

 Frost did not move. "I'm not sure that I agree.

 Howard, conditions are quite different where Estelle

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 has gone. It suits her, but I'm not sure that it would

 be a kindness to take you through to her."

 "Why not? Doesn't she want to see me?"

 "Yes—I think she does. I'm sure she would wel-

 come you, but conditions are very different."

  

 "I don't give a damn what the conditions are. Let's

 go."

  

 Frost got up. "Very well. It shall be as you wish."

 He seated Jenkins in the easy chair and held the

 young man's eyes with his gaze. He spoke slowly in

 calm, unmodulated tones-

 Frost assisted Howard to his feet and brushed him

 off. Howard laughed and wiped the white dust of the

 road from his hands.

  

 "Quite a tumble. Master. I feel as if some lout had

 pulled a stool from under me."

  

 "I shouldn't have had you sit down."

 "I guess not." He pulled a'large multi-flanged

 pistol from his belt and examined it. "Lucky the

 safety catch was set on my blaster or we might have

 been picking ourselves out of the stratosphere. Shall

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 we be on our way?"

  

 Frost looked his companion over; helmet, short

 military kilt, short sword and accoutrements slapping

 at his thighs. He blinked and answered, "Yes. Yes, of

 course."

  

 As they swung into the city gates. Frost inquired,

 'Do you know where you are headed?"

 "Yes, certaintiy. To Star-Light's villa in the Grove."

 "And you know what to expect there?"

 "Oh, you mean our discussion. I know the customs

 here. Master, and am quite undismayed, I assure

 you. Star-Light and I understand each other. She's

  

 122 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 one of these 'Out of sight, out of mind' girls. Now

 that I'm back from Ultima Thule, she'll give up the

 priesthood and we'll settle down and raise a lot of fat

 babies."

  

 "Ultima Thule? Do you remember my study?"

  

 "Of course I do—and Robert and Helen and all

 the rest."

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 "Is that what you meant by Ultima Thule?"

  

 "Not exactly. I can't explain it. Master. I'm a prac-

 tical military man. I'll leave such things to you priests

 and teachers."

  

 They paused in front of Estelle's house. "Coming

 in, Master?"

  

 "No, I think not. I must be getting back."

  

 "You know best." Howard clapped him on the

 shoulder. "You have been a true friend. Master. Our

 first brat shall be named for you."

  

 "Thank you, Howard. Good-bye, and good luck to

 both of you."

  

 "And to you." He entered the house with a confi-

 dent stride.

  

 Frost walked slowly back toward the gates, his

 mind preoccupied with myriad thoughts. There

 seemed to be no end to the permutations and combi-

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 nations; either of matter, or of mind. Martha, Rob-

 ert, Helen—now Howard and Estelle. It should be

 possible to derive a theory that would cover them

 all.

  

 As he mused, his heel caught on a loose paving

 block and he stumbled across his easy chair.

  

 The absence of the five students was going to be

 hard to explain. Frost knew—so he said nothing to

 anyone. The weekend passed before anyone took the

 absences seriously. On Monday a policeman came to

 his house, asking questions.

  

 His answers were not illuminating, for he had

 reasonably refrained from trying to tell the true story.

 The District Attorney smelled a serious crime, kid-

  

 ELSEWHEN            123

  

 napping or perhaps a mass murder. Or maybe one of

 these love cults—you can never tell about these

 professors!

  

 He caused a warrant to be issued Tuesday morn-

 ing, Sergeant Izowski was sent to pick him up.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 The professor came quietly and entered the black

 wagon without protest, "Look, Doc," said the ser-

 geant, encouraged by his docile manner, "why don't

 you tell us where you hid 'em? You know we're

 bound to dig them up in time."

  

 Frost turned, looked him in the eyes, and smiled,

 "Time," he said softly, "ah, time . . . yes, you could

 dig them up, in Time." He then got into the wagon

 and sat down quietly, closed his eyes, and placed his

 mind in the necessary calm receptive condition.

  

 The sergeant placed one foot on the tailboard,

 braced his bulk in the only door, and drew out his

 notebook. When he finished writing he looked up.

  

 Professor Frost was gone.

  

 Frost had intended to look up Howard and Es-

 telle. Inadvertently he let his mind dwell on Helen

 and Robert at the crucial moment. When he "landed"

 it was not in the world of the future he had visited

 twice before. He did not know where he was—on

 earth apparently, somewhere and somewhen.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 It was wooded rolling country, like the hills of

 southern Missouri, or New Jersey. Frost had not

 sufficient knowledge of botany to be able to tell

 whether the species of trees he saw around him were

 familiar or not. But he was given no time to study

 the matter.

  

 He heard a shout, an answering shout. Human

 figures came bursting out of the trees in a ragged

 line. He thought that they were attacking him, looked

 wildly around for shelter, and found none. But they

 kept on past him, ignoring him, except that the one

 who passed closest to him glanced at him hastily, and

 shouted something. Then he, too, was gone.

  

 124 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 Frost was left standing, bewildered, in the small

 natural clearing in which he had landed.

  

 Before he had had time to integrate these events

 one of the fleeing figures reappeared and yelled to

 him, accompanying the words with a gesture un-

 mistakable—he was to come along.

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 Frost hesitated. The figure ran toward and hit him

 with a clean tackle. The next few seconds were very

 confused, but he pulled himself together sufficiently

 to realize that he was seeing the world upside down;

  

 the stranger was carrying him at a strong dogtrot,

 thrown over one shoulder.

  

 Bushes whipped at his face, then the way led

 downward for several yards, and he was dumped

 casually to the ground. He sat up and rubbed himself.

  

 He found himself in a tunnel which ran upwards to

 daylight and downward the Lord knew where. Fig-

 ures milled around him but ignored him. Two of

 them were setting up some apparatus between the

 group and the mouth of the tunnel. They worked

 with extreme urgency, completing what they were

 doing in seconds, and stepped back. Frost heard a

 soft gentle hum.

  

 The mouth of the tunnel became slightly cloudy.

 He soon saw why—the apparatus was spinning a web

 from wall to wall, blocking the exit. The web became

 less tenuous, translucent, opaque. The hum per-

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 sisted for minutes thereafter and the strange ma-

 chine continued to weave and thicken the web. One

 of the figures glanced at its belt, spoke one word in

 the tone of command, and the humming ceased.

  

 Frost could feel relief spread over the group like a

 warm glow. He felt it himself and relaxed, knowing

 intuitively that some acute danger had been averted.

  

 The member of the group who had given the order

 to shut off the machine turned around, happened to

 see Frost, and approached him, asking some ques-

 tions in a sweet but peremptory soprano. Frost was

 suddenly aware of three things; the leader was a

  

 ELSEWHEN            125

  

 woman, it was the leader who had rescued him, and

 the costume and general appearance of these people

 matched that of the transformed Robert Monroe.

  

 A smile spread over his face. Everything was going

 to be all right!

  

 The question was repeated with marked impatience.

 Frost felt that an answer was required, though he did

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 not understand the language and was sure that she

 could not possibly know English. Nevertheless—

  

 "Madame," he said in English, getting to his feet

 and giving her a courtly bow, "I do not know your

 language and do not understand your question, but I

 suspect that you have saved my life. I am grateful."

  

 She seemed puzzled and somewhat annoyed, and

 demanded something else—at least Frost thought it

 was a different question; he could not be sure. This

 was getting nowhere. The language difficulty was

 almost insuperable, he realized. It might take days,

 weeks, months to overcome it. In the meantime

 these people were busy with a war, and would be in

 no frame of mind to bother with a useless incoherent

 stranger.

  

 He did not want to be turned out on the surface.

  

 How annoying, he thought, how stupidly annoy-

 ing! Probably Monroe and Helen were somewhere

 around, but he could die of old age and never find

 them. They might be anywhere on the planet. How

 would an American, dumped down in Tibet, make

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 himself understood if his only possible interpreter

 were in South America? Or whereabouts unknown?

 How would he make the Tibetans understand that

 there even was an interpreter? Botheration!

  

 Still, he must make a try. What was it Monroe had

 said his name was here? Egan—no, Igor. That was

 it—Igor.

  

 "Igor," he said.

  

 The leader cocked her head. "Igor?" she said,

  

 Frost nodded vigorously. "Igor."

  

 126 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 She turned and called out, "Igor!" giving it the

 marked gutteral, the liquid "r" that Monroe had

 given it. A man came forward. The professor looked

 eagerly at him, but he was a stranger, like the rest.

 The leader pointed to the man and stated, "Igor."

  

 This is growing complicated, thought Frost, appar-

 ently Igor is a common name here—too common.

 Then he had a sudden idea:

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 If Monroe and Helen got through, their badly-

 needed chattels might have made them prominent.

 "Igor," he said, "Helen Fisher."

  

 The leader was attentive at once, her face alive.

 "Elen Feesher?" she repeated.

  

 "Yes, yes—Helen Fisher."

  

 She stood quiet, thinking. It was plain that the

 words meant something to her. She clapped her

 hands together and spoke, commandingly. Two men

 stepped forward. She addressed them rapidly for

 several moments.

  

 The two men stepped up to Frost, each taking an

 arm- They started to lead him away. Frost held back

 for a moment and said over his shoulder, "Helen

 Fisher?"

  

 " 'Elen Feesher'!" the leader assured him. He had

 to be content with that.

  

 Two hours passed, more or less. He had not been

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 mistreated and the room in which they had placed

 him was comfortable but it was a cell—at least the

 door was fastened. Perhaps he had said the wrong

 thing, perhaps those syllables meant something quite

 different here from a simple proper name.

  

 The room in which he found himself was bare and

 lighted only by a dim glow from the walls, as had all

 of this underground world which he had seen so far.

 He was growing tired of the place and was wonder-

 ing whether or not it would do any good to set up a

 commotion when he heard someone at the door.

  

 The door slid back; he saw the leader, a smile on

  

 ELSEWHEN            127

  

 her rather grim, middle-aged features. She spoke in

 her own tongue, then added, "Igor. . . Ellenfeesher."

  

 He followed her.

  

 Glowing passageways, busy squares where he was

 subjected to curious stares, an elevator which startled

 him by dropping suddenly when he was not aware

 that it was an elevator, and finally a capsule-like

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 vehicle in which they were sealed airtight and which

 went somewhere very fast indeed to judge by the

 sudden surge of weight when it started and again

 when it stopped—through them all he followed his

 guide, not understanding and lacking means of in-

 quiring. He tried to relax and enjoy the passing

 moment, as his companion seemed to bear him no

 ill-will, though her manner was brusque—that of a

 person accustomed to giving orders and not in the

 habit of encouraging casual intimacy.

  

 They arrived at a door which she opened and

 strode in. Frost followed and was almost knocked off

 his feet by a figure which charged into him and

 grasped him with both arms. "Doctor! Doctor Frost!"

  

 It was Helen Fisher, dresser in the costume worn

 by both sexes here. Behind her. stood Robert—or

 Igor, his gnome-like face widened with a grin.

  

 He detached Helen's arms gently. "My dear." he

 said inanely, "imagine finding you here."

  

 "Imagine finding you here," she retorted. "Why,

 professor—you're crying!"

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 "Oh, no, not at all," he said hastily, and turned to

 Monroe. "It's good to see you, too, Robert."

  

 "That goes double for me. Doc," Monroe agreed.

  

 The leader said something to Monroe. He an-

 swered her rapidly in their tongue and turned to

 Frost. "Doctor, this is my elder sister, Margri, Actoon

 Margri—Major Margri, you might translate it roughly,"

  

 "She has been very kind to me," said Frost, and

 bowed to her, acknowledging the introduction. Margri

 clapped her hands smartly together at the waist and

 ducked her head, features impassive.

  

 128 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 "She gave the salute of equals," explained Robert-

 Igor. "I translated the title doctor as best I could

 which causes her to assume that your rank is the

 same as hers."

  

 "What should I do?"

  

 "Return it."

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 Frost did so. but awkwardly.

  

 Doctor Frost brought his erstwhile students up to

 "date"—using a term which does not apply, since

 they were on a different time axis. His predicament

 with the civil authorities brought a cry of dismay

 from Helen. "Why, you poor thingi How awful of

 them!"

  

 "Oh, I wouldn't say so," protested Frost. "It was

 reasonable so far as they knew. But I'm afraid I can't

 go back."

  

 "You don't need to," Igor assured him. "You're

 more than welcome here."

  

 "Perhaps I can help out in your war."

  

 "Perhaps—but you've already done more than any-

 one here by what you've enabled me to do. We are

 working on it now." He swung his arm in a gesture

 which took in the whole room.

  

 Igor had been detached from combat duty and

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 assigned to staff work, in order to make available

 earth techniques. Helen was helping. "Nobody be-

 lieves my story but my sister," he admitted, "But

 I've been able to show them enough for them to

 realize that what I've got is important, so they've

 given me a free hand and are practically hanging

 over my shoulder, waiting to see what we can pro-

 duce. I've already got them started on a jet fighter

 and attack rockets to arm it."

  

 Frost expressed surprise. How could so much be

 done so fast? Were the time rates different? Had

 Helen and Igor crossed over many weeks before,

 figured along this axis?

  

 No, he was told, but Igor's countrymen, though

  

 ELSEWHEN            129

  

 lacking many earth techniques, were far ahead of

 earth in manufacturing skill. They used a single gen-

 eral type of machine to manufacture almost anything.

 They fed into it a plan which Igor called for want of a

 better term the blueprints—it was in fact, a careful

 scale model of the device to be manufactured; the

 machine retooled itself and produced the artifact.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 One of them was, at that moment, moulding the

 bodies of fighting planes out of plastic, all in one

 piece and in one operation.

  

 "We are going to arm these jobs with both the

 stasis ray and rockets," said Igor. "Freeze 'em and

 then shoot the damn things down while they are out

 of control."

  

 They talked a few minutes, but Frost could see

 that Igor was getting fidgety. He guessed the reason.

 and asked to be excused. Igor seized on the sugges-

 tion. "We will see you a little later," he said with

 relief. "I'll have some one dig up quarters for you.

 We are pretty rushed. War work—I know you'll

 understand."

  

 Frost fell asleep that night planning how he could

 help his two young friends, and their friends, in their

 struggle.

  

 But it did not work out that way. His education

 had been academic rather than practical; he discov-

 ered that the reference books which Igor and Helen

 had brought along were so much Greek to him—

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 worse, for he understood Greek. He was accorded all

 honor and a comfortable living because of Igor's affir-

 mation that he had been the indispensable agent

 whereby this planet had received the invaluable new

 weapons, but he soon realized that for the job at

 hand he was useless, not even fit to act as an

 interpreter.

  

 He was a harmless nuisance, a pensioner—and he

 knew it.

  

 And underground life got on his nerves. The

  

 130 Robert A. Heirdein

  

 everpreseirt light bothered him. He had an unrea-

 soned fear of radioactivity, born of ignorance, and

 Igor's reassurances did not stifle the fear. The war

 depressed him. He was not temperamentally cut out

 to stand up under the nervous tension of war. His

 helplessness to aid in the war effort, his lack of

 companionship, and his idleness all worked to in-

 crease the malaise.

  

 He wandered into Igor and Helen's workroom one

 day, hoping for a moment's chat, if they were not too

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 busy. They were not. Igor was pacing up and down,

 Helen followed them with worried eyes.

  

 He cleared his throat- "Uh—I say, something the

 matter?"

  

 Igor nodded, answered, "Quite a lot," and dropped

 back into his preoccupation.

  

 "It's like this," said Helen. "In spite of the new

 weapons, things are still going against us. Igor is

 trying to figure out what to try next."

  

 "Oh, I see. Sorry." He started to leave.

  

 "Don't go. Sit down." He did so, and started mull-

 ing the matter over in his mind. It was annoying,

 very annoying!

  

 "I'm afraid I'm not much use to you." he said at

 last to Helen. "Too bad Howard Jenkins isn't here."

  

 "I don't suppose it matters," she answered, "We

 have the cream of modern earth engineering in these

 books."

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 "I don't mean that. I mean Howard himself, as he

 is where he's gone. They had a little gadget there in

 the future called a blaster. I gathered that it was a

 very powerful weapon indeed."

  

 Igor caught some of this and whirled around. "What

 was it? How did it work?"

  

 "Why, really," said Frost, "I can't say. I'm not up

 on such things, you know. I gathered that it was sort

 of a disintegrating ray."

  

 "Can you sketch it? Think, man, think!"

  

 Frost tried. Presently he stopped and said, "I'm

  

 ELSEWHEN            131

  

 afraid this isn't any good. I don't remember clearly

 and anyhow I don't know anything about the inside

 of it."

  

 Igor sighed, sat down, and ran his hand through

 his hair.

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

 After some minutes of gloomy silence, Helen said,

 "Couldn't we go get it?"

  

 "Eh? How's that? How would you find him?"

  

 "Could you find him. Professor?"

  

 Frost sat up. "I don't know," he said slowly, "—but

 I'll try!"

  

 There was the city. Yes, and there was the same

 gate he had passed through once before. He hurried

 on.

  

 Star Light was glad to see him, but not particularly

 surprised. Frost wondered if anything could surprise

 this dreamy girl. But Howard more than made up for

 her lack of enthusiasm. He pounded Frost's back

 hard enough to cause pleurisy. "Welcome home,

 Master! Welcome homel I didn't know whether or

 not you would ever come, but we are ready for you.

 I had a room built for you an4 you alone, in case you

 ever showed up. What do you think of that? You are

 to live with us, you know. No sense in ever going

 back to that grubby school."

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

  

 Frost thanked him, but added, "I came on busi-

 ness. I need your help, urgently."

  

 "You do? Well, tell me, man, tell me!"

  

 Frost explained. "So you see, I've got to take the

 secret of your blaster back to them. They need it.

 They must have it."

  

 "And they shall have it," agreed Howard.

  

 Some time later the problem looked more compli-

 cated. Try as he would Frost was simply not able to

 soak up the technical knowledge necessary to be able

 to take the secret back. The pedagogical problem

 presented was as great as if an untutored savage

 were to be asked to comprehend radio engineering

  

 132 Robert A. Heinlein

  

 sufficiently to explain to engineers unfamiliar with

 radio how to build a major station. And Frost was by

 no means sure that he could take a blaster with him

 through the country of Time.

  

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html